


Et si on échouait ? [eng version]

by CestPasDuBaudelaire



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, M/M, Time Travel, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 14:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 130,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CestPasDuBaudelaire/pseuds/CestPasDuBaudelaire
Summary: What if we fail?Grindelwald, despite his ego and self-confidence, had obviously explored the possibility. And it was Albus who had found the solution.A memory. Locked in a picture. Intact. A memory of this summer out of time. A memory that should have been their second chance in case of failure. However, this photo, carrying all the love of the world and every dreams of the future, had been lost somewhere in the meander of  years, simply to reappear at the least opportune time.And now, Gellert and Albus, the two greatest wizards (according to them anyway), find themselves having to put their plans aside and go to Hogwarts to prevent their future self to be accused of conspiracies and machinations ... But that will certainly not prevent the two future leaders of the glorious revolution from changing the world as they dreamed it, that summer!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Salut les gens !  
Gotta warn you, this is my very first try at writing in english. And I wasn't even that good at it at school, so...  
I'm sure there are a loooooooot of basic mistakes in this chapter, and I'm very sorry about that.  
If some of you enjoy this fic, I would be so gad if you could point out the mistakes you see, so that I can correct them and learn from them.  
Anyway, I hope you're gonna like it ;)  
Have fun !
> 
> EDIT : I found a fantastic beta reader, so we could all thanks HowDoTheyRiseUp for her fantastic work. Without her, reading this fanfic would be laborious and frustrating so she truly deserves that credit!

**PROLOGUE**

"**What if we fail?**”

For a time, only silence answered the question. Like the darkness, it filled the small congested room where it had reigned supreme for many minutes, unfazed. But, like everything in this world, it was destined to end any second now.

Albus looked down at the boy in his arms, who had just questioned him in a veiled voice. Questioning him, or questioning the surrounding void, it was not very clear, but Albus didn't care. He took the question for himself. The other boy, then, was huddled in his friend's arms, his eyelids modestly covering his bright eyes which had the annoying habit of seeing far too far. He grabbed the arms around him with his icy hands, as if they were the last thing that would save him from drowning.

And maybe they were, Albus thought. His friend Gellert was not a big fan of nighttime anguish. Actually, of the two of them, it was rather the British boy who, haunted by the image of his mother's corpse and his sister's deadly parasite, used to wake up covered in sweat, in the middle of the night and in the middle of his own screams. Gellert, on the other hand, was not the type to abandon himself to such trivial and human states as anxiety, doubt, fear or regret. He was better than that.

Most nights.

But that night wasn't most nights.

Albus carefully and lovingly observed the puny figure against him. It was so far from the proud and untamed Gellert Grindelwald who, armed with his passion, faith and visions, was only waiting for the inevitable opportunity to seize the world in the palm of his hand. In fact, everyone who had ever laid eyes on this far too strange boy came out of it with the conviction that nothing would ever be able to stop this clairvoyant spirit.

It was surely, moreover, for this reason that Albus took advantage of the sight of his weakened lover. Of course, the suffering of his better half did not delight him in any way, and he would be willing to sacrifice everything he did not have so that Gellert would never again be prey to the slightest negative emotion. But the knowledge that the knowledge that the image that he had of his lover at that very moment was one only he would ever have the honor of observing, filled him with an indefinable sensation that swelled his chest. Of all those who, in their lives, had had the chance to meet Grindelwald, whether his teachers, friends, relatives, enemies, or even ordinary passers-by in the street, no one had the opportunity to see the slightest weakness, the slightest flaw, the slightest crack in the strong and dazzling figure that the ambitious young wizard presented to the world.

Now, at that moment, it was his soul, wounded and trembling, that offered itself, naked, to Albus' gaze and arm. To no one else would he have said the words “What if we fail?”

No one but Albus.

"**We will succeed.**"

Slowly, tenderly, Albus stroked his lover's blond hair with his fingertips. He would have liked to kiss the temple that he was gradually uncovering, bit by bit, lock by lock, but he knew that Gellert was not in the mood. The outpourings of affection had never been effective in reassuring or encouraging the German boy, while nothing worked more on the British one than a gentle caress. So Albus forced himself to use words. He was not as virtuoso as Gellert with them, but he made the effort for his lover.

"**With me by your side, how could it be otherwise?**"

Gellert didn't seem particularly satisfied with the answer. Nevertheless, he finally let go of Albus' arms, without getting up, to the latter's great relief. He simply rolled on his back, so that his head was on his friend's lap, his eyes in his own.

"**You never know what might happen tomorrow.**”

“**Did you have a vision?**” Albus asked, worried by his friend's concern.

“**No. Of course not. I would have told you that.**"

Once again serene, Albus resumed his gentle caresses, passing from the temple to Gellert's angular cheek.

"**But, vision or not, anything can always happen. We don't know if we'll still be together tomorrow. We don't know if you will still believe in our visions, or if you will stand against them.**”

“**I would kill myself with my own hands rather than stand in the way of our dreams, rather than stand up to you!**” Albus answered, with a very slight touch of despair under tenderness.

This was not the first time that Gellert had seemed to doubt Albus' devotion and Albus despaired of ever being able to prove to his lover how much he meant to him.

"**Shh, I know, I know, I know...**" murmured Gellert, taking Albus' hand in his and gently stroking it to calm him.

Albus remained silent, but the anguish was still latent in his heart. Gellert always seemed to want more proof, but it became impossible for the British boy to provide it. Was it his fault that there were not enough words in the English language as in all the others to explain how he felt every time he laid his eyes on his lover?

Gellert, who seemed to consider that he had sufficiently appeased his friend, resumed in a whisper, as if not to disturb the night.

"**I'm just saying that... you never know. It is by always questioning everything that we reveal and feel injustices. The doubt of established and certain things is the sine qua non condition for achieving our vision. And the consequence is...**"

He did not continue. There was no way he was going to say "that I doubt you too, Albus". His lover already had enough self-esteem problems and their relationship was unequal enough so that he didn't have fun adding to it with impunity. No, he preferred to keep silent. He didn't really know what Albus heard in his silence, but it must have been less violent than he had imagined, since he saw his friend relax and smile at him with tenderness.

"**I know. I understand, Gellert. And if proving my full commitment to you must be the fight of my life, it is the most noble thing I can imagine.**"

Gellert refrained from pursing his lips. This unconscious gesture had always been a sign of his frustration, and Albus knew how to read these expressions very well. However, the Germanic boy did not want his lover to think that his words did not touch him. On the contrary. It just wasn't what he needed right now.

"**I... I know, Albus. I have no doubts about that. About you, anyway. But about the world.... About others... It's now that I need certainty. Not at the hour of our death when we can only reflect upon our accomplished works. Now. Before it all begins….**"

“**What exactly do you expect from me? I'm glad we made this blood pact. If you want a second one, I'll do it. All you have to do is ask.**”

“**No...**"

Gellert unconsciously tightened his shirt, below which he could feel the heat emanating from the pendant containing their mixed blood.

"**No. I don't want a second one. The one we have suits me very well.**”

“**So what?**”

“**I... I don't know, Albus...**"

This conversation, which had been born in silence, returned to silence.

Gellert had a problem but no solution. He could not expect his lover to know the darkness of his conscience and the visceral doubts that beset him. Although he suspected that Albus knew them, he could not expect him to appease them, to succeed in one summer at the only feat that Gellert had not accomplished in sixteen years.

But Albus Dumbledore was a genius who was inspired by nothing more than Gellert Grindelwald.

"**In times of doubt, and uncertainty, when I feel the temptation to stand in opposition, all I would have to do is remember this summer. Remember this night. A memory is all it takes to fight anxiety.**”

Gellert didn't answer. He knew the stupid passion his lover had for barstool poetry. If he had to identify all the naiveties he was capable of producing, he would never get out.

"**Gellert, please, pay attention to me.**"

The boy immediately complied. He recognized this tone, this clarity in the voice. It always foreshadowed a reminder of his friend and lover's real brilliance.

"**A memory,**" Albus continued, weighing each word calmly. “**This memory. That we can remind ourselves of in times of uncertainty. Like a second chance.**”

The German boy straightened up. He had the impression that he was beginning to see Albus’ dazzling idea, but he was afraid that if he tried to name it he would lose it. So he kept quiet, all the intensity of the world in his eyes resting on his lover.

"**We lock up this memory. Tonight. Like a drawing. Unalterable. And when the need arises, all that will be needed will be to call forth this image. So that it can ensure our souls and become our second chance. And then, failure is no longer to be feared, since it will only become a key step in a future victory.**"

The silence resumed for a few moments. Gellert put the words back in order, retraced the idea in his head. And the confident smile came back to him.

"**You propose... That we lock up a memory of ourselves, today. Which can be reinvoked if we ever fail a first time?**"

Albus did not answer. This idea was the darkest magic he could imagine. He, originally, would have preferred to confine his feelings and certainties and remember them when they failed him. Of course, he suspected that Gellert would understand it differently. But seeing the delighted and reassured smile of his lover, he did not have the heart to defend his own point of view. So he simply followed Gellert's. Things were always simpler that way.

Gellert jumped up, without any consideration for his great-great-aunt who was sleeping on the ground floor, in the room just below his own. With a brisk pace, he began to walk back and forth in the room, trying in vain to keep pace with his thoughts. Albus lit a candle from his wand, not without sighing discreetly. He would have preferred that his lover come lie back against him and that they could fall asleep like that. But it was impossible to get Gellert to give up on an idea, especially one as crucial as the one he was working on right now.

"**What is important,**” Gellert said both to himself and to Albus, “**is that this memory should have no connection with its living replicas, but rather that it should be absolutely hermetic to the passing of time. Not only must the object not age, because we do not know how many years or even centuries it will take before we are recalled, but the essence of remembrance, namely us, must also be absolutely beyond the reach of the outside world, so that the defects that may have developed in the hearts of our elders do not tarnish our second chance. So when we come back, without memory of the future, without resentment, without precedent, absolutely virgin, we can pick up where we left off.**”

“**If we need to come back!**” The British boy couldn't help but correct, now leaning against the top of the bed.

“**...If we need to come back. We will also have to make a promise today. One not to judge our past mistakes. Of course, we must learn from them, but wherever fate may have taken us, we must not blame the mistakes of a past that has never been really experienced on each other. You know what I mean?**”

“**Always….**"

“**Thus, we must create an image of ourselves at fifteen years old, that we can add to it…**"

“**Fifteen years?**”

Gellert stopped as he walked and stared at Albus for a second. He seemed to be waiting to see if his lover would understand on his own, but he didn't seem to want to make it any easier.

"**Yes, it's... I mean, I already told you about it. I have... a file. In Germany. A revolution is never without troubles. When we are summoned, we will probably have many enemies. I don't know what political and judicial systems will be in place at the time, but I might as well take away as much of their weapons as possible. If my return is known by the governments - in case they are still in place, of course - to be able to claim that, from my point of view, I have never done what I am accused of doing in Germany... It could be a plus...**"

Gellert almost expected Albus to sigh or look down, disappointed. The Brit had always had a sharp moral sense and he hated anything that reminded him that Gellert did not have the same one. However, this time Albus only nodded.

"**An image of us at fifteen years old…**"

“**Yes, that's right. Our own feelings, now, absolutely sealed until it awakens. And the promise to forgive the past, and to stay united for the future.**”

Gellert was exhilarated.

He felt his magic and enthusiasm boiling in his body, making each of his hairs stand up. The intelligence of the idea, the perspectives it offered, filled him with the most intense satisfaction and excitement.

But Albus was far from following him in this wild joy. He had a gloomy face and something similar to sadness could be seen in his eyes. Gellert knew this expression all too well; his lover displayed it as soon as he mentioned the less shining sides of the Greatest Good. Necessary and unavoidable aspects.

But Gellert loved this great naive boy too much. Despite all the advantages that Albus presented for him, Gellert managed to love him sincerely. His great weakness according to him. He didn't really want to admit it, but he’d promised himself that he would spare Albus as much as possible. Not only to keep his devotion, but also to avoid seeing the same sad look that now haunted these features made to be bright and happy. If, to calm this trouble, Gellert had to do the dirty work himself and fix the truth a little so that it would not be too hard to face, it was a modest price to pay.

The German boy slowly approached the bed until he sat down next to Albus. Gently, he leaned over and kissed his lips tenderly. He knew that he had the gift of making his lover forget absolutely anything. He savored the sweet taste against his mouth for a few moments before pulling away. Just enough to cross Albus' azure gaze, but not enough to give his poor victim the opportunity to come to his senses.

"**If this is the only way I can be sure that you can get absolutely everything you deserve in life, Albus, I would even do it against your own will...**"

The boy did not answer, his eyes lost on the lips that he wanted to take back. He stepped forward, hesitant, and Gellert did not have the heart to refuse him this small favor. He let him kiss him for a long time before moving further away.

“**Will you follow me, Albus?**”

“**Always…**”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !  
I hope you enjoyed this new chapter !  
I want to thank my Betareader : HowDoTheyRiseUp
> 
> Bisous !!

**CHAPTER 1**

"**Professor Dumbledore wants to see us.**”

“**What?**"

Harry turned his eyes away from his rook, which was in the middle of a fight with Ron's bishop, and turned to Hermione and Ginny who had just entered the boys' room.

"**Dumbledore. He wants to see us.**”

“**It's not like top secret meetings anymore? Are we allowed to come now?**”

“**It would seem so. You should have seen Mom's face. It looked like she had just swallowed a Acid Pop when she asked us to go get Harry.**”

“**Me specifically?**” asked the interested person as he stood up and grabbed his sweatshirt so he wouldn't be running out in his pajamas.

“**I don't think so,**" replied Hermione. “**I think he wants to see absolutely everyone. The whole Order was gathered downstairs. Come on, hurry up!**”

Harry nodded and quickly left the room, following Ginny and Hermione. If someone was finally going to talk to him for once, he wasn't going to take the risk of arriving after the action. So he encouraged Ron to speed up the pace and the four teenagers rushed down the stairs with a strange mixture of anxiety and enthusiasm.

All quickly found themselves in the living room, where the Order had been gathered. Many barely familiar faces mingled with the regular inhabitants of the headquarters. Harry, accompanied by Ron and Hermione, went to sit on the couch not far from Sirius.

"**Why does he want to see us?**" Harry breathed, feeling Ron and Hermione bending over to listen too.

“**No one knows that. But something is happening. Kingsley said there was something going on in the Ministry. Something related to Dumbledore. In the greatest secret. Everyone knows there is something, but no one knows exactly what.**”

“**He's going to tell us, do you think?**" Ron asked from the other end of the couch.

“**Why else would he have summoned us?**”

“**Well, it's just that it's not often Dumbledore tells people things. Generally, he prefers to keep them to himself.**”

“**Professor Dumbledore tells us exactly what we need to know.**”

The trio jumped at the sound of Lupin's voice behind them. Harry squeezed a little closer to Hermione to make room for the newcomer. Lupin seemed even more emaciated and exhausted than usual, his crumpled robes hanging on his bowed shoulders. Harry was about to ask him for news when Dumbledore finally entered the living room, creating an authoritative silence around him. Everyone was waiting for the words of their leader.

"**Good evening, everyone. First of all, I would like to thank you all for coming despite the very short notice it was possible to give you. Everyone was able to answer the call and that says a lot about the investment and passion you offer to this order. However... whatever desire I may have to remain on such light words, you see me tonight forced to tackle a much more delicate and obscure subject... Something happened this weekend.**”

Immediately, the mood dropped a notch, and Harry found himself shivering in his pajamas. He now regretted not having taken the time to put on a little more than just a sweatshirt.

"**Those of you who knew me before ’45... and unfortunately there are not many left, may know a little bit about the story that links me to the wizard Grindelwald.**”

Harry looked around, but everyone seemed to understand what Dumbledore was talking about. He hesitated to tap Hermione's elbow to ask her the question, but he decided to wait until the end of the meeting, too eager not to miss anything of Dumbledore's words, which were so rare these days.

"**The others, you probably don't know that Grindelwald and I met briefly at Godric's Hollow, long before we became the men we were destined to become. If today, none of this remains in our memories, since our relationship as enemies was much more important than the brief encounter decades earlier, this is not the case with physical evidence. Indeed, until yesterday, there was a picture, only one, representing both of us, from that time at Godric's Hollow. A photo that should have been harmless but unfortunately fell into the wrong hands.**”

A long silence followed. Harry had trouble seeing how a picture could be important enough to require a crisis meeting. To his great relief, he was obviously not the only one asking himself such a question. Everyone watched Dumbledore with a cautious look, not understanding what the old man was getting at.

"**There are still many mysteries surrounding this story. The who, how and why are not yet resolved in any way. Of course, assumptions can be made, but at this stage I think it is healthier to stick to the facts. And the facts are as follows. Last night, late at night, two Aurors were deployed to investigate a suspicious trace of magic in a remote corner of the London countryside. And if they failed to find the perpetrator, they discovered two unconscious bodies and a blank photograph. After several examinations, it turned out that the two young men found were actually Grindelwald and myself at the time of the photo.**”

Again, an unbearable silence fell, but this time it was not the result of a dramatic effect created by Dumbledore, but rather of the shock and astonishment of the audience.

"**What do you mean?**" finally asked an anonymous old witch who had just vocalized everyone's thoughts.

“**It seems that an extremely powerful spell has been cast on the photo to bring back to the present the memories locked in the film.**”

“**Like Riddle’s diary?**” Harry intervened.

He blushed immediately, feeling all eyes on him, but Dumbledore simply continued without worrying about the intervention.

"**The situation is very tense in the department.**”

“**That's for sure,**” commented Sirius, who seemed by far the most relaxed member of the assembly. “**With two Dumbledores instead of one, I can't even imagine Fudge's face when he found out.**”

The living room was filled with light laughter that made the atmosphere more bearable and Dumbledore offered a sparkling wink to Sirius. It was finally Remus who came back to the subject of concern.

"**But do we have any idea who did this? I can hardly imagine the power it takes for such a spell…**"

“**Do you think You-Know-Who could be responsible?**" Professor McGonagall breathed in a toneless voice. “**Who else would be powerful enough and crazy enough?**”

“**But what would be the You-Know-Who’s interest in bringing them back? He should rather avoid everything related to Albus.**”

“**Perhaps it was the Dark Wizard Grindelwald who interested him,” Remus tried. “Maybe he had no idea who the other person in the picture was. After all, few people know that you knew each other…**"

“**The Dark Lord has no interest in seeing a competing Dark Wizard appear.**”

It was Snape's whispering and deep voice that had just spoken with a tense smile that looked nowhere near amused.

"**Much less a wizard of the magnitude and popularity of Gellert Grindelwald.**”

“**Severus has a point,**" noted Moody. “**Even today, the echoes of Grindelwald's words are resounding and he has many followers across the West. Grindelwald, even now, could build an army with passion equal to the one You-Know-Who could build with fear and intimidation**.”

A new silence was created, each person digesting Moody's words. Suddenly, their future seemed to take on an even darker hue. Harry would not have believed it possible, between Voldemort's return and his eventual expulsion from Hogwarts. And yet... This year was really not going to go easy on him

"**What do you think, Professor?**" asked Molly.

The whole living room turned like one man towards the old headmaster, waiting for his words like others for Gospel.

"**I think it's too early to speculate on who and why. What matters right now is to get these two boys back.**”

“**Even Grindelwald?!**” hiccupped an old, crumbling gentleman who seemed to come alive again in this fearful jump.

“**He may be the most powerful dark wizard of all time, you are sure you want him by our side?**” asked Remus, more measured but just as uncomfortable.

“**It is better to have him with us than against us,**” Snape whispered.

“**That's very true,**" Dumbledore agreed. “**But even more importantly, we must be aware that the boy we are talking about is only 15 years old and we cannot judge him for crimes he has not yet committed. Keeping him with us not only ensures that he will not be on the other side but also gives us a great opportunity to make him an ally. And in the upcoming war, an ally like him could be what makes the difference between defeat and victory.**”

“**Does that justify allying ourselves with a murderer?**” McGonagall asked.

“**With a murderer, no. But with a boy whose uncertain future can change completely depending on how he is treated, yes. This justifies it.**”

This part of the discussion seemed to close, leaving everyone with their thoughts and fears for the future. It was finally Moody, always down to earth, who spoke again.

"**Where are they now?**”

“**Detained in the ministry,**” Albus replied. “**Awaiting interrogation.**”

“**And how are we gonna get them out of there?**”

“**I would need the help of all of you who work in the Department. The only thing to do and try to impose justice, even in the closed procedures that will be put in place to manage this case. Fudge does not yet have the status of a dictator, and he must submit like everyone else to the law and logic. Technically, nothing can be held against these two young people. It will simply be a matter of proving it.**”

* * *

* * *

The light.

Too much light.

Far too much light.

Albus had not yet opened his eyelids, but he already had the impression that he was blinded by the unbearable intensity of the light that easily crossed the thin membrane of skin that protected his overly sensitive eyes. His eyes, which were far too used to the darkness.

What had happened?

The second before he was with Gellert, in the night and the silence of their room. And, a heartbeat later, which now seemed to him to have stretched over several eternities, Albus found himself... here. He didn't know where "here" was. But it wasn't his room. And he didn't feel Gellert by his side.

Gellert.

Where was he?

This was the thought that forced Albus to open his eyes. Painfully. But with the determination of despair. Where was Gellert?

The return of his sight did not give him the slightest answer. After passing through the shock of the torrent of light, the young man discovered that he was lying on a rough bed in what looked very much like a cell. One would have thought it was just a room without furniture, but the straps Albus could feel on his chest, legs and arms informed him about the nature of his situation. Wherever he was, he was a prisoner there. Gellert was right, the revolutionaries were never well received.

Gellert!

Where was he?

Albus forced himself to twist his neck to get a better look at the room where he was confined. Nothing. White everywhere. On the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the door. Other than that, the bed on which he was restrained. White too. And his clothes, a white hospital tunic. Nothing else.

He began to feel fear despite himself.

“**Gellert!!!**"

At least that's what he would have wanted to scream. But only silence escaped from his lips. It was then that the young man realized that he had something in his mouth. Some kind of gag, probably. Enchanted to let in and out air without obstruction, but effectively suppress noise. He couldn't say anything. There was nothing he could do.

Albus, ignoring everything that could make sense, began to scream in vain at his gag.

Someone!

Please!!

Someone!

Anyone!

Gellert!

GELLERT!

The silence of his cries frightened Albus even more than the straps, the light, or the whiteness. He felt the horrible silence weighing against him, suffocating him, threatening him. There was something deafening in that. Albus was made deaf by the unbearable sound of his blood beating against his temples and his heart palpating. He could feel his fingers shaking and his vision blurring, resulting from his anxiety and the hypertension that went with it. His silent screams no longer made sense, no longer had a purpose either. Someone had to come! Somebody had to hear him!

Fulfilling a wish with dramatic irony, the door opened and a silhouette, dressed in white, the lower part of the face hidden behind a medical mask, and the upper part of the skull hidden by a charlotte, approached the boy screaming in silence. Nothing in this newcomer was engaging or reassuring. Albus stopped trying to scream, but only because fear effectively made him dumb. He was there, completely at the mercy of the stranger, unable to defend himself, unable to shout, unable to beg. He didn't feel his magic. He didn't feel Gellert’s presence. And he had no fucking idea what the hell he was doing there.

The anonymous figure approached him without a word and began to examine him with a professional coldness that was difficult to bear. Albus nevertheless noticed that the person - a man, it seemed – limited physical contact and proximity as much as possible. Obviously, the stranger did not want to stay with Albus any longer than necessary, but the young man could not determine the reasons for such behavior. Was it out of fear? Or was it one of those methods of soft torture where depriving a prisoner of human contact would inevitably drive him mad? In both cases, it was an observation that had to be kept in mind. The second thing Albus noticed was that at no time during the examination had the silhouette used its clearly visible wand at the waist. This meant that the enchantment that blocked Albus' magic - he’d realized it the second he’d woken up - also extended to the magic of others. It was probably placed on the entire surface of the cell. The most effective way to do this was through runes. If Albus could find the runes, he could probably modify them and free himself.

But all this did not answer his three main questions. Where was he? Why was he there? And who was keeping him there? Nevertheless, Albus managed to calm down slowly. He still didn't know anything, but at least his brain seemed to return to a normal rhythm, pushing fear back into a remote corner of his mind.

Well, what was the last memory he had? He had opened his eyes in that white cell and felt like he was waking up from a very long sleep, like those nights of 10 hours when you wake up and feel like you're being reborn. But he had to remember the condition in which he fell asleep. He knew very well, of course, that sometimes violent and brutal shocks, physical or emotional, could alter memory in the short term, but he felt that he was missing nothing. Before he lost consciousness, he remembered that he’d been in Gellert's room at Godric's Hollow. He was with his lover and both of them had talked about....

If he had not been tied up, Albus would have suddenly straightened up in shock. Instead, the straps tightened magically around him when they felt the muscle activity underneath them. But Albus did not care at all. All his thoughts were turned towards this memory that came to him with a disconcerting clarity. Photography. They had taken pictures of themselves, and... nothing. He didn't remember casting any spells on it. No memory after the blinding flash of photography... It meant... It necessarily meant... That it was him, the photo!

They had succeeded! They were the memory that was to remain! They were the second chance!

As soon as this revelation was understood, all the moral and ethical fears about Albus' forbidden act of magic vanished, driven away by his victorious joy. Yes, it was dark magic, but they had succeeded! They had achieved a magical feat that no one before them had ever achieved! They had made history, definitely!

Albus had to force himself to take a deep breath to calm his intoxicating satisfaction. There was a time for celebration and a time to get out of trouble. All right, let's think calmly. The big question was, who were the ones holding him in this cell. If Albus had no answer to give, he could already guess some conclusions. First, it was likely that those who were holding him were not the ones who had "taken" him out of the picture. He was indeed treated here as a highly undesirable prisoner. What reason could someone have to bring something back to life that they had no desire to have? Then, of course, there was the possibility that they might want to use him, that they might need him. But if he had been brought back to help, he would not have been treated like that, quite the contrary. No. The most likely outcome, according to Albus, was that someone had brought him back, but that he had been recovered along the way by the organization that owned the cell. So that made two unknowns, the one who held him, and the one who brought him back. For the second case, Albus assumed that this was not in any way the future version of himself. He had no proof, but he knew that nothing could steal something that Albus Dumbledore cared about. Nothing and no one. It was probably arrogant, but it was no less true. It meant that at least one person, apart from himself and Gellert, knew about the picture... And so about the extremely dark magic it was locking up...

The plan with Gellert had been simple, on paper. Be innocent. Make them believed it wasn't them who had bewitched the picture. The picture was ordinary. Someone simply must have cast a powerful curse after the fact, but it was not their fault... Of course, all this was false. The reality was that it was indeed Albus and Gellert who had charmed the photo from the very beginning. The object was a time bomb, only protected enough not to be unlockable by the first one to arrive. But anyone with a minimum of common sense and a little bit of magic power would be able to "recall" it to the present. That said, if they had planned the lie that they would use - “It wasn’t us, it was someone else.” - they hadn't imagined a situation like this. They had planned to be recalled by their future selves. Or at least, in the case where several centuries have passed, be brought back by a third party who would be there when they woke up to provide them with some explanations. They had not planned to be brought back by a person who would have vanished into thin air before they became known.

Thus, a person who knew the truth, who knew that they were the guilty ones, walked around freely, able to do anything with this information. This fact represented the main danger, from Albus’ point of view. As soon as he got out of here, if he got out of here, it would be imperative to find this stranger. And convince Gellert to help him. After all, his lover had the unfortunate tendency to downplay the reprehensibility of using black magic...

Gellert....

This was not the primary question, but it was undoubtedly what Albus cared about most. Where could Gellert be? The only thing that was certain was that he had returned at the same time as Albus. The boys had made sure that one could not be recalled without the other. But after that... only the basic assumptions still held. The first was that he had been "recovered", like Albus. It was obvious that those who were holding him would not let them have shared cells. It was therefore very likely that Gellert would be held somewhere in the same building as him. Maybe a wall was the only thing that currently separated them. Or maybe he was as free as a bird. Maybe Albus was the only one who needed to be imprisoned. Maybe he was the villain that history had retained, and Gellert a hero...

This thought painfully encircled his heart. He did not want to imagine a future where he and Gellert had not known a shared destiny.

Albus wanted to shake his head from left to right to chase away that nasty thought, but the strap on his forehead reminded him of his present situation.

The silhouette had disappeared as discreetly as it had arrived, without Albus noticing it especially, lost as he was in his thoughts. His cell was now as quiet and motionless as when he woke up. Unbearably silent and motionless.

Time passed inexorably, but Albus had no way of knowing whether it was slow or fast. However, each second was so painful that Albus unconsciously began to count them. Getting lost in numbers had always been a reassuring habit, for as long as he knew how to count. This appeased him, because the realm of numbers was a mental place in which Albus felt deeply secure, where everything was predictable, and at the same time challenging enough that he would never get bored. When he had nightmares as a child, his mother would come to soothe him by whispering the beginning of a logical sequence of numbers that he would always pursue until he fell asleep.

Albus could not stop a tender smile from stretching his lips. He saw his mother very clearly, late at night, taking up her arithmetic books from her time at Hogwarts, to find tricks capable of pleasing his genius son...

Albus missed his mother terribly. At the end of his Seventh Year, he had been convinced that he was now an adult, that he no longer needed parents, and that he could leave childhood and everything else behind. Losing his mother had shown him how wrong he was...

But Gellert had been there to ease his pain...

A new noise, which was all in all of a reasonable sound level but which, in the oppressive silence of the hermetic cell, clattered with a crash, ripped Albus from his thoughts.

The cell door opened to a new silhouette. The latter was less hidden than the previous one. She was a woman in her forties, with brown hair and brown eyes that shone with controlled ferocity. With a sharp and muscular step, she approached Albus, ripped off his gag in one gesture, and, with the same hand, grabbed the young man's jaw to force him to look at her.

"**I'm warning you right now, kid. You're not going to waste my time. You will answer my questions, and don't you dare lie to me, if you don't want me to use more extreme forms of interrogation. Nod carefully if you understand what you're being told...**"

The speech was supposed to be worrying, but Albus could not help but be relieved to finally hear a human voice. Nevertheless, he kept his smile off his face. There was no need to further annoy the woman already visibly on edge. He simply nodded, scrutinizing the reactions of his interrogator.

"**Well, I see we're on the same page.**”

She took her hand off Albus' jaw but did not release him any further, simply bending over him to remain in his field of vision.

"**Your name.**”

“**Albus Dumbledore.**”

He did not play on insolence - that was Gellert's domain - but he answered in a clear and limpid voice that did not betray any fear or pressure, which seemed to exasperate the woman.

"**How did you get here?**”

“**I don't know, I just woke up here, that's all.**”

Wrong answer. The young woman wrapped her hand around Albus' jaw again with vigor and strength, digging her nails into the tender skin of his cheek. She leaned over him until her evil eyes were only a few centimeters away from his.

"**Don't play that game, boy. The only possible loser is you.**”

She waited a few seconds, pushing her claws deeper into the boy's flesh, before resuming in an over-articulated voice.

"**How did you get to this time?**”

“**What time?**”

The slap he received was resounding, but Albus forced himself to keep his resolution intact. He had to keep going. Look innocent. Not only was his life at stake, but Gellert's too. It was out of the question that Albus would let Gellert's ideals and great projects rot in prison for a tiny act of harmless black magic. Thus, he received the slap in silence, letting his eyes open innocently in reaction.

"**I repeat, how did you get to this time?**”

“**I swear, I don't understand the question!**”

He forced a little despair into his voice, but that did not prevent the second slap from flying. That said, he immediately yielded. He wasn't supposed to play the smart one, he was supposed to play the victim.

"**Please, please, I beg you! I don't know what you're talking about! Who you are, what you want! I don't have any money! I have nothing to give you!**”

The third slap sounded, but Albus could already see a glimmer of doubt in the interrogator's eyes. Moreover, the violent action she had just made had cracked the collar of her jacket, and Albus could see a symbol hanging over her chest. A well-known symbol... the symbol of the Ministry of Magic. He was in the Ministry! Which meant one thing, legality still had to prevail. At least normally. Once again, other times, other morals. And Albus couldn't know what was legal and what wasn't.

"**What year are you from?**”

The line of questioning had just changed, as had the young woman's attitude. The latter, although always aggressive, seemed to be trying to understand the situation, rather than pushing Albus down.

"**What do you mean, what year did I come from? Same as you, as far as I know!**”

Again, the woman grabbed his jaw.

"**What year are you from?!**”

“**1896,**” Albus muttered between his clenched teeth.

She released him and straightened up a little.

"**And what year is it?**”

“**1896, last I heard.**”

“**No.**”

“**No?**”

The young woman was immersed in her own thoughts, her dark eyes calculating at high speed. Albus saw it as an opportunity to retrieve some crucial information.

"**Madam? Why are you asking that?**” he started. “**We can't be in'97 already. I can't have slept for six months!**”

“**Not six months, no.**”

“**So how long?**”

“**One hundred years.**”

“**What?!**"

And with these words, the young woman left the cell, leaving Albus alone with himself, and the weight of a century of unknown events during which anything could have happened...

* * *

* * *

An indefinite period of time had elapsed since this shortened interview, but if he relied on the frequency of meals, Albus thought that he was entering his second week.

He had still not been freed, but someone had taken pity on him and he had been allowed to stand up. The strap table was gone. Now he was dressed in a kind of straitjacket that held his hands trapped in his back, but gave him the freedom to walk in the space of his cell. If, at first, he had been delighted to be able to stretch his legs, now it was a real ordeal. He was constantly exhausted and had to force himself to walk a little every day to avoid losing too much mobility, but the lack of contact was beginning to affect him seriously, especially since the only thought to keep him company was "Where is Gellert?” These words ran through his head until they lost their meaning, but they were always accompanied by a heavy feeling of anguish.

However, approximately nine days after his awakening, something new finally happened! A person entered the cell. She was dressed in a white Mediwizard coat, but less masked than her colleagues. All those who had entered the cell so far had only remained long enough to deposit a liquid meal tray before retiring immediately, but this woman only had a folding chair in her hands. She was relatively tall and slender. Her ebony skin and hair stood out sharply with her pale grey eyes and, when she approached Albus, she did so with the calm gait of those who know they have nothing to fear, which was a pleasant change.

Albus was lying on the padded floor, too tired and dizzy to really stand, but the woman crouched down at his height and grabbed his elbow.

"**I'll help you sit up.**”

She began to pull on his elbow, passing her hand over his waist to support his weight more. Albus managed to get upright long enough to sit down. The world was spinning around him, all that white blinding him, but he was relieved to have a little something new in that cell, and that someone spoke to him in such a warm voice that, although professional, soothed him gently.

The woman also straightened up, throwing her hair back, and went around to put herself at the boy's back.

"**I'm going to have to handcuff you so I can take off your restraints.**”

She obviously did not ask him for his opinion, but at least she had the merit of considering him enough to seak to him and inform him of her plans. So he let himself be handcuffed without a word, and the woman was able to unbutton the back of the restraints, finally freeing him from this heavy and suffocating straitjacket. Albus was able to take a long, deep breath of air for the first time since he’d woken up here. Finally, she removed the gag that had been forced on him and which, in the absence of air and soup, filtered any sound emanating from his mouth. He was so happy to be rid of it that he could not prevent a grateful nod towards the Mediwizard.

The latter squatted down in front of him and began to take his vital functions with gentle but effective gestures.

"**What is your name?**" Albus finally asked in a frighteningly hoarse voice.

He was not really interested in the woman's name - he certainly had not forgotten that she was his enemy - but knowing if she had the right to talk to him and give him her name could teach him a lot about his situation.

"**Eshe. I am a Mediwizard, I work for the Ministry.**”

“**Have you been in charge of my case from the beginning?**”

“**No, I just received your file. As you are going to be questioned, you must pass a medical examination so that I can judge your fitness for this hardship.**”

Albus was silent. Apparently, the first interrogation with the brunette who loved slaps had not been considered a sufficient hardship to justify a medical examination. The young man had no way of proving it, but he was willing to bet that his meeting with the Fury remained off the record. A Ministry that had to undergo a medical examination certainly did not have the right to slap its prisoners.

"**Do you feel dizzy, nauseous, headachy?**" Eshe finally asked as she got up and put away her stethoscope.

“**A little bit of all three. It's all that white, I think…**"

“**You're about to be moved to another cell, don't worry. This place is an isolation room. We are not allowed to keep you here for more than seventy-two hours by law.**”

Seventy-two hours? Albus was convinced that he had been there for well over seventy-two hours. He doesn't say anything, however. He preferred to keep the information to himself. Obviously, this Ministry was subject to strict legislation. He knew he could probably use this infraction later on as a means of pressure.

"**Do you have any other symptoms that bother you?**" asked Eshe, looking at her file.

“**No, not especially. Just tired?**”

“**It's normal,**" said the woman, "**it's isolation. But... It's strange...**"

She looked through the file, squinting her eyebrows, doubt shading her grey eyes.

“**What?**"

“**It's just... there are no charges against you. This part of the file is empty…**"

“**What does that mean?**”

“**It means that, technically, nothing is keeping you here.**”

“**Except for the handcuffs, you mean...**"

Eshe laughed slightly, but nothing that could illuminate her worried gaze. However, she eventually closed the file.

"**You might want to discuss this subject with your interrogators. In the meantime, I see no reason to consider you unfit to answer questions.**”

She ticked something on a sheet of paper and, taking the file under her arm, she headed for the exit.

"**Wait, madam!**" Albus called out to him with an unpleasant hint of despair in his voice.

Eshe turned around and looked at him.

“**Yes?**"

“**Does it...**"

He hesitated. He was already hearing Gellert's voice in his head reprimanding him for putting his plan in danger, but he didn't care. He needed to know.

"**Is there anyone else being held up here? Someone who arrived at the same time as me?**”

“**Sorry, I can't talk about any other patients.**”

“**But there is another one, isn't there? Another patient?**”

Eshe did not answer and left the cell, leaving Albus alone with his frustration.

However, the wait was not as long as he had anticipated. Just a few minutes later, he had company again. Indeed, the door of his cell soon opened to let in two male silhouettes. The first was short, dressed in a dark green robe cut like a suit, a thick moustache weighing down his upper lip and doing little to reduce the well-developed size of his nose. The second was more imposing and muscular, bald, and dressed in a dark purple garment, finely decorated with sinuous motifs, adorned with a single circular earring that shone with a golden glow. The chairs floating docilely behind the two men stopped sharply at the entrance of the cell and one of the two newcomers, the one in the purple robes, went to get them and set them up facing Albus. Finally, everyone was able to sit down and a tense silence settled in.

Albus took advantage of this moment to observe the men in more detail with a kind smile, knowing that this waiting was harder to bear for them than for him. Finally, it was the little mustached man who intervened in a sudden and nervous voice.

"**You know what you're doing here, don't you.**”

Albus felt that the man had almost said his last name but had held back, as if embarrassed. The young man was willing to bet that his interrogator knew the other Dumbledore somehow and therefore had some difficulty using that name for someone else. But did he know his alter ego because he was a close acquaintance or because he was well-known? Putting this information and question in a corner of his head, Albus answered in a soft and warm voice.

"**No, actually. Perhaps you could enlighten me?**”

“**Don't be a smartass with me**," the mustache said. “**This is not the time for your witty lines and half answers, Dumbledore.**”

“**I'm not here of my own free will, sir. You were the one who brought me here. So it is you who can tell me why you made such a decision...**"

The meeting with Eshe had given him back some strength, and he now felt able to stand up to those who were facing him...

"**I'm not asking you why you're here, _here_!**”

“**Ah….**"

“**Why are you here, _now_! That's what I'm asking you!!**”

“**My bad, but admit that the question was confusing.**”

The little man was now a ball of nerves. If, of course, Albus played a little bit with the effect of his words, he knew that he was not the only one to blame. He did not know the circumstances of this conversation, but the young man easily guessed that they were tense and prescient and that, in the minds of these people, the name Dumbledore should not be associated only with positive things. However, the other man, the one who had remained silent until now, had a much calmer and more open posture and Albus understood, just by his body language, that he was trying to make him understand that he had an ally in him. But the prisoner was not going to give his trust to the first one who came along on the sole pretext that he seemed to be calm enough.

"**I'm sorry, but I don't have an answer to that question.**”

“**I think you don't _want_ to give that answer.**”

“**No, I assure you! I'm more lost than you are. The person, there, who was here before you….**"

“**Dr. Jelani**,” pointed out the bald man to his colleague.

“**... No, not her. The other one. The one who didn't have the right to question me but who did it anyway...**"

Albus immediately saw the little man tense even more, his face closing with fear. Touché....

"**She told me it was 1900-something. But it doesn't make any sense! I was at home, quietly, and all of a sudden... I'm here. But I don't understand why! I don't have any answers! But you, you must have them! You can probably tell me what happened?!**”

The plan was clear. Look innocent. All the way to the end. He and Gellert had no idea how they got there. It would remain a mystery for which they were absolutely not guilty. Furthermore, Albus had enough confidence in his Occlumency to be sure that no one would ever be able to see through his lies.

"**But you must have done something! It has to be your fault!!! People don't travel like that to the future_, by accident_.**”

“**What is the last thing you remember?**” interrupted the bald man with his calm and deep voice, in contrast to his colleague's hysterical nervousness.

Albus smiled. This question allowed him to start telling the story he and Gellert had invented for themselves. It seemed that the bald man had deliberately asked this to help him...

"**I was in my room. There was my neighbour's great nephew... I don’t remember his name, we just ran into each other and Bathilda - my neighbour - asked me if I could lend him ingredients from what was left of my potion classes... We were in my room, and I showed him my skin of Boomslang and there was a flash. Then... nothing... When I opened my eyes, I was here. I had the impression that I had only blinked but... but... but it was as if several centuries had passed…**"

“**A flash?**” repeated the wizard in purple.

“**Yes. Kind of like a camera... Exactly like a camera.**”

“**Was there anyone in this house other than the two of you? Someone who may have been able to take your picture?**”

“**Come on, Shacklebolt!**” cut off the little moustache. “**You're not going to tell me that you value these stories at all!**”

“**We have to explore every path, Mr. Fawley. Moreover, we have already submitted Professor Dumbledore to the Veritaserum, and he claims that he has no knowledge of such a spell placed on him, much less by himself. The same answer that was given to us by Mr. Grindelwald.**”

The nervous man frowned as he grumbled. Shacklebolt had to see the opening he was waiting for to continue.

"**We have to face the facts, what Professor Dumbledore was saying seems to be true. It's probably someone who stole the picture and cursed it to bring it back to the present. It requires great magic, he is certainly a wizard of phenomenal power.**”

“**If you tell me that nonsense about You-Know-Who…**"

“**Absolutely not. All I am saying is that Professor Dumbledore could not have put in place such magic in view of the constant surveillance to which he has been subjected since June. Playing with time is a very serious crime, I want to arrest the guilty party. But Professor Dumbledore seems to me to be a victim in this story.**”

“**I don't see anyone else who could benefit from such a situation.**”

“**To consider him guilty would be to admit that we are not in a position to monitor him, despite the fact that all our staff have been requisitioned for this task.**”

“**Maybe it's him!**”

Fawley pointed his short, nervous finger at Albus' chest, who was listening very carefully to the exchange. He had just learned more about the external situation in a few seconds than in a week. So his "old self" was a kind of public enemy that the Ministry had placed under surveillance?

"**Maybe the spell was cast on the picture long before, by him and Grindelwald!**" Fawley continued.

“**First, this feat is far beyond the reach of a 15-year-old child. Secondly, Professor Dumbledore never did magic outside Hogwarts until he was seventeen.**”

“**The bureaucracy of the time was not as serious as it is today on these issues. It's possible they let it go.**”

“**That they let a spell of this magnitude slip away?**”

A vexed silence followed and Shacklebolt continued.

"**Finally, would you really be willing to consider that Dumbledore may have had anything in common with Grindelwald?**”

“**They were both in the picture.**”

“**Yes, by chance of fate, the Dumbledore family moved closed to Grindelwald's great aunt. But the headmaster was very clear on the issue. During his youth, he only met the dark wizard once, and they didn't even exchange their names. The investigation reports of the time are clear. Nothing on Grindelwald and Dumbledore related to Godric's Hollow.**”

Fawley fell back in the chair, obviously defeated. Shacklebolt, on the other hand, continued in a soft voice, as if he was trying to encourage a child who was a little slow.

"**The culprit is elsewhere. And it is our duty to find him, and not another.**”

“**Fudge is not going to be happy.**”

“**Probably not. But our duty is to care only about truth and justice. Nothing else.**”

Fawley grumbled again as he stared at the ground. Shacklebolt, on the other hand, slowly looked up at Albus' eyes and planted them just one more second beyond what was natural. Just enough to say without a word, "I'm on your side”. And Albus breathed deeply. He was going to be fine.

* * *

* * *

"**I'm here to explain to you what's going to happen now.**”

According to the delivery of the meals, it had been half a day since Albus' official interrogation, and the man named Shacklebolt had just returned to the cell, this time without his nervous colleague.

He had a dark and hostile look that vanished as soon as he closed the cell door behind him. With a quick but measured step, he approached Albus and took his place in the chair that had not moved since this morning - or was it last night? In a soft, whispering voice, he continued.

"**I'm here to help you.**”

“**Why should I believe that?**”

"**The day your sister was attacked by the Muggles, you were by the lake reading rather than watching your sister as your father had asked you to.**”

Albus was so shocked that he opened and closed his mouth without saying anything. It was his greatest and most shameful guilt...

“**How...**"

“**You told me that. At least, you... In a way. Professor Dumbledore gave me this information that only he had to prove to you that I was on your side, of both of you.**”

“**Professor?**” repeated Albus.

“**Yes. Professor and Headmaster of Hogwarts.**”

Albus didn’t reply. Certainly, he had a gift for teaching, but with Gellert, he had imagined things a little more glorious than that...

"**What can you do for me?**" Albus ended up asking.

“**You are already on the path of liberation. Professor Dumbledore took care of everything. He put the right words in the right ears. Everything will be all right. He will explain the details to you in due time. I'm here to tell you to keep up exactly as you’re doing. Above all, to give the appearance of cooperation with the Ministry but never to give them anything they do not already have.**”

“**Gellert?**"

Shacklebolt kept quiet for a moment, looking at Albus.

"**He's fine,**" he finally breathed. “**He is being held in a cell in Nurmengard, but he will soon be released as well. They are not pressing charges.**”

“**Nurmengard? Where is that?**”

“**In the Austrian Alps. It was the fortress of Grindelwald, now transformed into a prison.**”

“**Like Azkaban?**”

“**Without the Dementors. It's a prison only for Grindelwald's followers.**”

Albus felt stunned. The room was spinning while his brain, which understood too much, was spinning at full speed in a vacuum. His ears rang with Shacklebolt's last words which resonated endlessly against his skull.

"**Grindelwald's followers... in prison.**”

“**Yes,**" Shacklebolt said without any particular emotion. “**This may not have been the case in your time, but today Grindelwald is probably the greatest international criminal of the twentieth century. He was jailed for life for murder, acts of black magic, violation of the Statute of Secrecy and call to violence.**”

Albus' breathing was laborious, each puff shorter and tenser than the previous one. He was starting to get too hot and too cold at the same time, causing long shivers that went up his entire spine.

"**And that's why the Ministry put me under surveillance? I mean, have put my other self under surveillance?**”

“**No, not at all!**" Shacklebolt said in astonishment. “**On the contrary. The fact that you defeated Grindelwald and freed the world from his influence is one of the reasons why, even today, you have so many allies ready to follow you to the end!**”

There, the whole room was spinning, and Albus couldn’t bear it anymore. He vomited painfully on Shacklebolt's shoes. He had eaten almost nothing for days, so it was just a mixture of bile and saliva but he had several long minutes of heartbreak and each dismissal was more painful than the last. Shacklebolt did not get upset about it, simply squatting beside the young man and rubbing his shoulders to help him as best he could.

"**I know, it's a lot of change. I forgot... I forgot that at that time, you were not enemies. Anyway, don't worry, my boy. You're going to get out of here very soon.**”

Albus spat a little more bile before sitting down again, sweating with large drops. Shacklebolt, on the other hand, went to the abandoned meal tray and took the glass of water to take him to the young man. He drunk of a small sip, slowly, not to upset his painful throat. Finally, it was Gellert's voice that soothed him a little. Their promise. "Do not hold against the other mistakes that he has not even made yet.” And he prayed with all his heart that Gellert would remember it. That they could start all over again. He hoped more than anything else in the world that Gellert would still have faith in him after that. That this time, Albus wouldn't screw it up. That he would stay by the side of his friend and lover. All the way to the end.


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

"**Where are you taking me?**

**-Uh... I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to tell you, Professor... I mean, sir.** »

Albus twisted his neck slightly to see the Auror behind him. The latter did not seem to be more than thirty years old and, even in semi-darkness, one could see the apprehension written on his face with hollowed out features. It should have worried him to be in the presence of a man who seemed to know him when he had no idea who he was, but after being subjected to incessant interrogation for more than a week, he was actually rather relieved to feel calm hands on his shoulders, not grabbed as if he would turn around at any moment and throw his fist in their faces. He did not lack the desire, especially when asked the exact same question for the thirteenth time in a row, but Albus was against violence, so he did not consider all the security measures and nervousness he was subjected to necessary. Moreover, after two weeks tied up in his exasperating white cell, he certainly wasn't going to complain about his improvised walk. He didn't know where he was going, but at least we let him walk.

"**You know...**"

The auror had leaned behind his back, whispering something in his ear. He looked around for a moment, as if to make sure no one was around, before continuing.

"**... They say they'll release you soon.**"

Albus nodded gently. He knew that the Ministry would not be able to hold him for long, but hearing it from one of his jailers was reassuring.

"**Thank you, uh...**

**-Anton. You probably don't remember it, but it was thanks to you that I was able to become an Auror. I didn't really have the grades, but you talked to the recruiter and they gave me a chance.**

**-You... seem to deserve it.** »

Anton did not have the opportunity to answer, since they were just arriving at their destination.

"**They transferred me in another cell?**

**-Yes, you were in confinement, in the quarters under high surveillance. They transferred you near the reception desk. They keep you just waiting for your tutor to pick you up.**

**-My tutor?**

**-I don't know any more than that.**"

On these statements, Anton opened the cell and let Albus in. After closing the door, he took off his handcuffs through the bars and, after a last embarrassed smile, withdrew. Albus, on the other hand, turned around to observe his new environment. This cell was much larger and brighter. Long benches ran along the walls, where old alcoholic wizards comatose in silence. Through the bars, he could see a desk with a uniformed supervisor, and behind a double door that seemed to face the hall of the detention center. The exit wasn't that far away, he could feel it.

It had been more than a day since he met his impromptu ally named Shacklebolt, but he still felt like he was hearing the wizard's warm, deep voice telling him about Gellert. Albus suspected that he would soon have to face his lover - Shacklebolt had said they were both going to be fine - but to be honest, the young man was not in such a hurry. Of course, his best friend's absence was almost painful, but he was so afraid of his friend's reaction that he was deeply apprehensive about meeting him. What if Gellert had forgotten their promise? What if he's mad at him? He had after all the best reasons in the world to hate him. Albus himself hated himself for this act, which he had no memory of having committed. Even if Gellert, by some miracle, did not immediately disavow him, he would never forgive himself.

“**I can walk by myself, no need to push me!**"

Albus jumped as he recognized this voice. He immediately turned around towards the corridor that led to the depths of the prison and soon - too soon - he saw such a familiar silhouette emerging in the shifting shadows. Framed by two Aurors much older than Anton could have been, Gellert suddenly appeared, visibly morose. His two guards held him by an elbow each and dragged him to the cell where Albus was. They opened it, pushed their prisoner quickly into the gap and rushed to close it at full speed before finally removing Grindelwald’s handcuffs. The latter slowly massaged his wrists, looking furiously at the two Aurors as they walked away without a word. Finally, he turned around and noticed Albus. When his eyes fell on him, they lit up and the British boy was able to breathe again. Maybe everything would be fine after all.

Gellert quickly crossed the distance between them and took him in a happy hug. Albus closed his eyes, enjoying the simplicity and warmth of the moment. But finally, the young German separated and looked at Albus in detail.

"**I had no news. They wouldn't tell me anything about you. It was only yesterday that your... alter-ego, finally came to see me.**

**-Have you seen him?**

**-Not you?**

**-No... How is he?**

**-He's... old.**”

Albus couldn't help but feel a squeak of perplexity and annoyance encircling his chest. Why didn't his "old self" see fit to come and talk to him? Was he too ashamed of his actions that he could not bring himself to confront his past? Albus could certainly understand it. He himself was not sure that he would ever be able to overcome this shame, which should not be his.

"**No, Albus...**"

The person called out lifted his eyes to see Gellert's, worried, detailing him.

"**No what?**

**-Your look. You think I don't know it?**

**-What, what's wrong with it?**

**-You're blaming yourself.** »

Albus had nothing to answer so he just looked down.

"**I thought we had a promise, continued Gellert. Not to blame yourself for the future.**”

The young British man felt his eyes start to sting, so he blinked several times to contain the tears.

"**Albus,**" Gellert breathed in a deeply sweet voice, "**please don't do this to me.**

**-I betrayed you, finally dropped Albus with a shortness of breath and a heavy throat. I betrayed you, Gellert. I'm so sorry! So sorry! You have no idea, Gellert! I feel so ashamed for myself! And I don't even understand how I could do that?** »

Gellert took Albus back into his arms, hugging him tightly to bring him back to the present and anchor him a bit.

"**You don't have to blame yourself. We failed, but that's okay. That's what our second chance is for. You must not let your mistakes overwhelm you but learn from them.**

**-But I can't even begin to understand how I could do that...**

**-I... I must have gotten lost on the way somewhere... We both got lost on the way. But now we'll do things right. Can I count on you?**

**-Yes!** Albus immediately cried out, driven by the force of despair. **Yes, you can count on me! I promise you that!**

**-And I believe you. But in order for us to get out of this, you have to pull yourself together, Albus. You have to put all this behind you. You must be entirely in the present. Entirely with me.**"

Albus reluctantly parted from the warm embrace and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"**I am, Gellert. Entirely with you.**"

Slowly, Gellert touched his cheek with a smile. Albus did not have the naivety to believe that the case was really behind them. It was far too big, far too unmissable. It was certain that they would come back to this subject, that Gellert would blame him in one way or another. But not today. Today, everything was fine between them.

"**Find yourself another cell, you fucking faggots.**"

The two teenagers turned to one of the alcoholic wizards who, from his bench, watched them with a mixture of hatred and disgust.

"**Why?**" asked Gellert with a fake innocent smile. "**Does it awaken buried feelings in you?**"

Albus hated it, when Gellert responded to the attacks in this way by getting into the aggressors' verbal game. The British, for his part, preferred to keep a low profile and go away, apologizing. He didn't want any trouble, but his lover seemed to have a gift for attracting them and taking away from that fact a perverted form of pleasure.

However, this time things did not have the time to turn violent, while a loud voice called them behind their backs.

"**Grindelwald, Dumbledore.**"

The two called turned to the origin of the voice. He was an old Auror who must have been well over sixty but who kept the back straight of the experienced soldiers. It was obvious that his angry tone was carefully crafted to give him an aura of power and authority, but the fine minds of the teenagers had no trouble discerning the underlying tensions behind the cold voice. Gellert, for his part, had very quickly noticed that no one seemed able to pronounce his name without a characteristic tremolo in his voice. It seemed that he and his best friend would have to get used to this kind of attitude around them. This did not bother Gellert... on the contrary, he could not deny without bad faith the boost that his ego received every time he heard the reverence and anguish in the voices of his interlocutors.

"**Yes?**" Albus finally asked, a polite look on his face.

**-Come on.**"

Gellert had the reflex not to move but instead to throw himself into a scathing response - he was not given orders like that - but Albus took him with him. The Auror did not bother to handcuff them before opening the cell and, once he had closed it after the former prisoners had left, he left straight for where he came from without checking that the two teenagers were actually following him. But neither Albus nor Gellert had the slightest desire to stay here for too long, so of course they followed in the footsteps of the guide.

"**Someone told me we would have a tutor...** whispered Albus, making sure they were far enough behind to talk without being heard.

**-It's not surprising, we're minors after all.**

**-Surprising, no. But binding... I think it's me.** »

Albus lowered his voice again, even though it was not necessary.

"**I haven't met him yet... My old self, I mean. But I met an ally. He seemed to be working for "me". He told me that we would have a lot more information very soon**

**-When I met your alter-ego, he couldn't tell me anything specific. It was for my trial, he just came to defend me and disappeared right after.**

**-Really?** Albus wondered. »

He had gotten away with it without a trial. After all, no charges could be laid, since the investigation could not hold them responsible for creating the photo. But it was clear that Gellert had to face more resistance on his side. But from there to being on trial....

"**And?** Albus continued. **Did it go well?**

**-Well, I'm here, aren't I?** »

The two young people finally emerged into the light. The Auror had guided them out of the detention center, through a stolen service exit, which led to an absolutely deserted Muggle Alley if the two garbage cans and the big black cat stuck nearby on a roof were omitted. It was clear that the government wanted to release its two prisoners as discreetly as possible. Albus did not have time to ask the guard why they were there that the characteristic noise of the Apparition sounded.

A few meters from the trio, a tall, slender man with a silver beard and a familiar blue look had just appeared, looking serene. He smiled politely at the Auror before speaking.

"**I'm going to take over from now on, Greyson. Thank you very much.**"

The man named Greyson stared at the old man for a moment with a mixture of apprehension and mistrust before nodding, grumbling a warning, and quickly entrenching himself inside the centre.

"**So?**" asked Gellert after turning to this familiar old man." **What do we do now?**"

* * *

* * *

The passers-by of the Diagon Alley who stopped this afternoon at the terrace of Florean Fortescue to try to find an oasis within this stifling summer day could see a strange vision. If it was rare to see Professor Dumbledore on the Diagon Alley (or anywhere outside Hogwarts and the Ministry), seeing him under the glacier sign was not so surprising, his taste for sweets being of more than public notoriety. However, what surprised passers-by were, even more than man, his company. It was not uncommon to see Dumbledore side by side with other big names at receptions or official events, but it was well known to all that the old director was more of a lonely figure. The weight of the great geniuses, said certain. So seeing him with two boys who were old enough to be his students was surprising. That being said, the aura of authority that constantly surrounded this man, even in such troubled times, discouraged any curious from staying any closer to the strange trio's sunny table. And even if a more courageous (or less wise) soul had the boldness to approach, the spell of silence that the old man had put up around them would have made any attempt to spy on the conversation useless.

"**Are we going to get some answers now?** »

It was the young Albus who had asked the question, a touch of annoyance in his voice. He had in his hand the raspberry cone he had ordered - because he never said no to more sugar - but nothing in his posture reflected the relaxation of someone enjoying an iced treat on a heavy afternoon vacation. His lower lip was twisted into a disapproving pout and his long, thin fingers were pounding on the edge of the table. His old self - whom he was beginning to appreciate less and less - had dragged them to this terrace without the shadow of any information, and he had been exchanging banalities for a good twenty minutes in a clear tone that the young man found quite inappropriate in the context. Gellert, for his part, a beret stuck on his head to hide his characteristic eyes in the darkness, seemed to be having a good time. He swung in balance in his chair and stared at the old man with a sparkling and sardonic look, following him willingly in his light and caustic discussions, as if he was in no hurry to have an answer to the multitude of questions that were probably jostling through his head.

Albus knew that his friend was infinitely patient and had this unfortunate tendency to seem to take the tensest subjects lightly. Albus usually loved this attitude which gave Gellert a small rebellious and nonchalant aura, but now he would have liked a minimum of support in this situation. Albus even began to wonder whether his lover was not more in the old man's camp than in his own. The young man, still a philosopher, would surely have taken the time to wonder if one could be jealous of oneself, but he was cut off by Gellert who completely ignored the previous question.

"**What happened to your nose?**

**-It was broken, I'm afraid!** replied the old man in a light and happy voice.

**-How?**

**-Oh, it's a fascinating anecdote, full of drama and stakes, all it takes to keep an audience on edge, but I'm afraid this is not the time. We have more pressing business to discuss.** »

Albus rolled his eyes. He had been trying to bring the conversation back to the important topics for ten minutes, and it had been necessary for Gellert to ask for something else for the old man to finally decide to return to the first subject. But he had to refocus. Something had been bothering him for several days and he wanted to be sure.

"**Did you send Shacklebolt?**

**-Yes, I did. Although I would be grateful if you wouldn't mention this relationship to anyone.**

**-And it was also you who defended Gellert...**"

The old man nodded his head. The above-mentioned man turned to his friend. He knew that he had something on his mind and was eager to see the reasoning.

"**Without Shacklebolt's intervention, it is obvious that I would have ended up in prison at best. And that's not to mention Gellert's case. So you're the one who got us out of prison. But what I don't understand is why. I heard it said...**"

Albus hesitated for a second. He didn't like to say that out loud, especially with Gellert's eyes staring at him painfully. But he wanted answers.

"**I heard you were the enemy of... your Gellert. I mean... the one of your time. Then why do you want us out? What could justify not wanting to see us in prison for the rest of our lives?** »

The old man seemed thoughtful for a moment, which greatly surprised Albus. He would have assumed that his interlocutor would have a quick answer, either because his reasons were obvious or because he had already imagined a lie to offer them. But now, the wizard seemed to be really thinking about the question for the first time. Did he really get them out of prison without even having a clear reason? It hardly seemed credible. Yet....

"**It's a delicate question. Obvious, and yet the answer is not. I think...**"

He left a moment of suspension, as if he was lost in his thoughts and memories. And finally he blew, in an almost fragile voice:

"**Yes. I think I wanted that second chance too. Maybe even more than you.** »

Gellert and Albus stared at him in silence, not knowing what to say or what to answer, and it was finally the old man who resumed with a smile in his voice but a melancholy in his eyes.

"**Things between my Gellert and me, as you call him, are not as obvious as history remembers. There have been... accidents of fate, road departures, inevitable tragedies. Everything went so fast, and neither he nor I were able to get out of it. But that doesn't mean that everything has been denied and forgotten. I didn't defeat him because I didn't love him anymore. On the contrary. I defeated him despite the fact that I still loved him. And at each stage of our fall, I repeated only one thing to myself: if only I could have done things differently. For the moment, everything is fine for you. The fall hasn't started yet. And you would have to kill me before I would agree to participate in the destruction of what I have such a tender memory of. All this could be dangerous, could be destructive. But I have my reasons for trying to guide you to a path that you can both walk, rather than nip in the bud the most beautiful thing that could happen. To the world and to myself.** »

Although he still looked like a serene wise man, a strange inflection had come to crack his voice, painfully charging it with vivid emotions, and Gellert and Albus respectfully kept quiet in the face of this unexpected demonstration.

"**But, let's cut to the chase. My states of mind are hardly on your list of priorities for things to consider.**

**-I'll tell you what's at the top of my list! cut Gellert who had recovered from the strange atmosphere. The blood pact. Where is it?**

**-Can't be found.**

**-How could this not be found?** Albus worried.** We came back with all our clothes on. I even have my watch, why not the blood pact?!**

**-Someone must have taken it...** The old man answered, trying to delay the revelation. **Someone must have taken it before the Aurors found you. You were unconscious for a long time. Who knows what happened in that field.**

**-Or it is the Ministry!** Gellert protested, always ready to accuse the leaders. **They keep it to themselves in the hope of using it later as a means of pressure!**

**-This is a possibility, the old man pointed out, always in the tone of mediation. Unfortunately, not a possibility that we have the opportunity to explore now.**

**-Then we will create that opportunity, Gellert groaned with a rare aggressiveness. I want that pendant! Finding it must be our priority!**

**-You're no longer at home now.**"

The old man had just cut him off with a voice that he managed to make both soft and incredibly dry.

"**You are in enemy territory,**" he said. "**Everyone wants to see you locked up or killed. Believe me when I tell you that finding the pact is not what you need to do now. We'll find it, I promise you, but first we have other things to deal with.**"

Gellert seemed far from agreeing, so Albus felt compelled to add with a whispered voice.

"**And we can always make a second one...**"

Gellert didn't answer, but readjusted himself on the chair. It was obvious that although he was letting it go for the moment, he had not yet said his last word. Albus shifted his knee a little under the table so that he could tap Gellert's leg, but Gellert stood back on his seat, looking gloomy, although his hand slowly came to rest on Albus' concealed leg.

"**So what are our concerns?**

**-The Daily Prophet edition containing the news of your arrival will be published tomorrow. In less than 24 hours, the whole of England will know, and in 48 hours, the whole world will know. You're going to have to keep a low profile this year. You will need to pose as two normal teenagers, so that the public will forget you a little. As you probably understood, I'm not in a very good place at the moment, which makes you two major targets for the enemies. You'll have to be kept safe.**

**-In a safe house? For a whole year?**

**-No, you'll go to Hogwarts. It will be a win-win situation for everyone. This strengthens your role as 15-year-old teenagers, the Ministry is reassured to keep an eye on you, and you will be protected from my enemies.**

**-Which enemies, exactly?**" Gellert asked at last.

Without answering, the old man put one hand in his pocket and took out two long cardboard boxes the size of wands and held out one in front of each of the two boys.

"**The Ministry broke your wands before I could intervene. But I kept them after 1945. As a reminder of the time before... And by telling myself that maybe they could be useful again somedays.**"

The two boys did not have to be asked twice and discovered in the cases their wand that they had missed so much in recent weeks. They seemed duller, more damaged too, but they responded with joy to their master, ready to serve again! The old man watched them for a moment, obviously delighted to see them happy, before the seriousness subsided and he spoke again.

"**You have come at a very opportune time for me, but very harmful for you. You should know that you have just arrived in the middle of a war. A war that you will have to help me win, for the simple reason that it will be impossible for you to be happy or to succeed in anything in a world led by Voldemort.**

**-Voldewhat?**"

* * *

* * *

Lord Voldemort was getting impatient. Seriously impatient.

It has been more than two weeks. It had been more than two weeks since something was stirring in the depths of the Ministry and even he, the Dark Lord, could not discern exactly what it was all about. Of course he sent his spies. In numbers even. He was no man to skimp on the means. But all of them came back empty-handed. Whatever the subject of this unrest, only very rare and indispensable elected officials were kept in confidence. Even Lucius Malfoy, who was a close ally of the minister himself, had returned looking down with nothing but empty hands.

However, the Dark Lord was hopeful this time. No one other than Severus Snape had introduced himself to him, and he knew he was more effective than all those idiots who gravitated around him to gain his good graces. Severus, therefore, was currently standing in front of him in the main living room of the Lestrange mansion. Voldemort, on the other hand, was sitting in the high-backed chair, Nagini wrapped around his feet, his wand in his hand - he had used it a lot lately, with all those incompetent to punish.

"**I'm in no mood to hear excuses, if that's what you came for, Severus.**

**-That's good, I don't have any to provide you with.**

**-Will you be the one who will _finally_ report to me what is happening in the Ministry?**"

He insisted with emphasis on "finally" while giving a strong look to a Lucius Malfoy who was not hiding his fear well. Snape continued without worrying about the veiled threat, his dark, neutral face not reflecting any of the emotions or thoughts that could pass through his mind.

"**Professor Dumbledore told me about it.**

**-Does this old fool know about it? How is it that he knows before me?!**"

A certain irritation was beginning to blow into the chest of the Dark Lord. Since the beginning of the summer, things were going according to plan, everything was going perfectly, but this Muggle worshipper that is Dumbledore always seemed to be one step ahead. Like when Tom was still a school student and the teacher could see through his game...

"**It concerns him closely,**" Snape informed in a controlled voice. "**He is indirectly at the origin of all the unrest.**

**-Explain yourself.**

**-A photo dating back to Professor Dumbledore's youth have fallen into the wrong hands. I don't know which ones, and it seems the director doesn't know either. But someone have used extremely dark magic to bring this photo back to life. Like a memory that have resurfaced.**"

Voldemort remained silent, internally stunned by what he had just heard. He knew more about black magic than the old man. And he had never heard of such a spell before.

"**This is what agitated the Ministry,**" Severus continued in the silence left by his Lord. “**The Aurors have found a 15-year-old version of Dumbledore not far from London.**”

How could this be possible? Could it be that there is a wizard somewhere who knows more about dark magic than he does? No. Unthinkable. There had to be another explanation to justify the fact that a rejuvenated version of Dumbledore made his way through time to come back today. Of course, Voldemort knew a way to do that. But the spell should have been cast at the time of the photo's development, not after the fact. And that it should have been cast by an infinitely powerful wizard. At least as powerful as Dumbledore's.

"**Oh, the little liar,**" whispered Jedusor, without any trace of amusement.

Yes, there could only be Dumbledore to be powerful enough to use a spell of this magnitude. Only Dumbledore was able to bewitch the picture. And of course, only Voldemort knew enough about black magic to know it. Dumbledore had skillfully made his move. By using a spell that no one could understand, there would be no way to charge him. But the Dark Lord was not a man to be so blinded. It was obvious that some form of Horcrux was hiding behind all this, and only the one whose soul was the target was able to create this kind of artifact. Thus, Dumbledore entertained himself by lecturing generations of students - including the Dark Lord himself - about the use of black magic and, behind their backs, by creating personal Horcruxes? What a hypocrite! Tom Jedusor had always known that.

"**Get out. All of you. Except you, Severus.**"

Lucius, Bellatrix and Goyle promptly left the room, leaving the Potion Master alone with his bad news.

However, Voldemort had no intention of attacking the messenger. His brilliant mind was running at full speed to guess the ins and outs of such news. The first thing that came to mind was who the Professor could have killed? He saw no way that the teacher had enough audacity and ambition to be able to kill someone. Moreover, he had none of the physical stigmas characteristic of Horcrux's creation.

What was clearer, however, was the reason for a return today. Voldemort was not naive enough to think that the 15-year-old would not be used as a weapon against him. He had two Dumbledore as enemies now. That was deeply upsetting to him. Yes, very deeply.

"**Why liar?**" asked Severus, interrupting the heavy silence.

Voldemort could not prevent a hint of fun from being born in the middle of his annoyance. Severus was indeed the only one of his Death Eaters with the guts to interrupt the thoughts of the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord rewarded boldness.

"**Because there is no spell that can bring photos back to life. But there is a spell to lock life in a photo. Whatever the old man says, he's the one who's responsible for this situation.** »

For the first time since the conversation began, an emotion escaped Snape's control and stain his face with the colors of surprise.

"**Did he create the picture?**

**-Yes. Despite what he has been telling you - and, I suppose, what he has been telling the Department - he was the one who created the photo. No one else could have done it for him.**

**-And you plan to use this information and your contacts to get him arrested?**

**-No, not at all. If the Minister sends Aurors to arrest Dumbledore, he... or rather they will disappear before they are caught. I prefer to know that Dumbledore is where I can keep an eye on him. Do you know what will happen to the younger one?**

**-Yes, he'll go to Hogwarts in September. He's only fifteen years old, he's not yet an adult.**

**-Perfect. At least he'll be out of action for ten months.**

**-But that's not all, my Lord.** »

Voldemort immediately planted his red and wrinkled eyes in Snape's dark eyes. It looked like bad news. And Voldemort hated bad news. What could be added to the fact that there were now two Dumbledore?

"**He did not return alone, Lord. The dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald was with him.**"

Voldemort would have sat down if he wasn't already. Two Dumbledore were bad news. The old man was a powerful and intelligent enemy. But his morality and high ideals made him absolutely predictable. But Gellert Grindelwald.... Gellert Grindelwald was a completely different category of bad news.

* * *

* * *

"**I see nothing worthy of admiration in this,**" Gellert said, his heterochromatic eyes casting outraged flashes of lightning from the shadow of his beret.

\- **I know it**," breathed old Dumbledore gently, "**I have no doubt that you greatly disapprove of Tom Riddle’s actions.**

**-However, you're the one who just said I was suspected of wanting to join him! Why would I want to join a coward who only serves his own interests and seeks power for his own purpose!**

**-I did indeed say that some people suspect you, not that I suspect you at all. Besides, you have to excuse their lack of knowledge. You are known to have been a very powerful dark wizard. From there, the link with Voldemort is quickly made.**

**-But I have nothing to do with him! My goal is to free the wizards, certainly not to terrorize and kill them. And I don't care about the purity of the blood, as long as a soul has been blessed with the gift of magic. Voldemort is a conservative. I'm a revolutionary! How could anyone think we could be assimilated?**

**-You preach to a convinced person. From my point of view, you have made your share of mistakes in the past, but none that can bring you closer to the Voldemort ideas.**"

Gellert did not answer, but it was obvious that he was still fulminating.

"**And this Voldemort is going to try to kill us?** Albus asked.

**-At Hogwarts, I don't think so. Outside, if he has the opportunity, he will not hesitate. However, I know he's scared enough of me that he will not target you directly. His goal is Harry Potter, and he will prefer to go around me to reach him, rather than confront me.**

**-And you would like us to protect this boy, wouldn't you?**

**-Your mere presence will protect him. No, first of all, I'd like you to protect each other.**

**-From who?**

**-From the Ministry in particular. From the world in general.** »

* * *

* * *

Letha had the scoop of the year. No, of the decade!!! She would never have guessed that one day her idiot brother in the Aurors would end up being useful to her. But that day had arrived, and it was Luka who offered her this golden opportunity to impress her boss.

Since Rita Skeeter's departure from the Daily Prophet, all the apprentice journalists had shown the greatest zeal to hope to stand out and become the new darling of the editorial staff. But it was Letha who was going to succeed. With the draft she had in her hands and was now handing to the boss of the Prophet.

_PAST IN PRESENT_

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE AND GELLERT GRINDELWALD_

_ The news came last night, but no one really seems to believe it because the revelation is so huge. Indeed, on a date that the Ministry did not wish to communicate, two unidentified young people were found north of Cheshunt. After a thorough investigation by the Aurors, it turned out that the two young men, aged fifteen according to a source close to the case, were none other than Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. The news made a big splash, especially considering the opposition that Albus Dumbledore, director of Hogwarts, showed to the Ministry at the beginning of the summer and the dark reputation of the greatest dark wizard of the first half of this century._

_ After several interrogations, it turned out that Albus Dumbledore was removed from the list of suspects, yet his innocence did not convince everyone. A close contact of the Minister who wished to remain anonymous commented on the case as follows: "You can't help but wonder if it's not a trick. Dumbledore is suspected of wanting to carry out a coup d'état, and having an agent as loyal as himself could well help him in this regard.” However, Albus Dumbledore was reportedly subjected to the Veritaserum, without success; the culprit of the magical act that brought these two boys back remains completely unknown at the moment._

_ About Gellert Grindelwald, a trial was reportedly held in Nurmengard, which led to the young man's exoneration. He and Albus Dumbledore will both be free tomorrow morning, and rumors are spreading that they will be arriving at Hogwarts soon. However, apart from the culprit, there are other mysteries surrounding the arrival of these two wizards, including the reason why they came back together. "We asked them about it. "says our anonymous contact " But no clear answer. Some wonder if Dumbledore might not have hidden an acquaintance with Grindelwald. "If Hogwarts' director was indeed known to have defeated the wizard Grindelwald in 1945, their current relationship remains strange, especially when one recalls that it was none other than Professor Dumbledore himself who, in 1946, prevented the death penalty from being imposed on his enemy._

_ In any case, the investigation remains open to find the culprit, but it seems obvious that the director of Hogwarts did not give all the answers he had..._

The boss read the article in silence, focused on each word as his face marveled. Finally, he looked up to Letha and gave her a carnivorous smile.

"**It goes right to the printing.** »

* * *

* * *

"**Do they suspect you of bringing us back?**

**-With haf-word. The truth is, public opinion is not ready to believe that I have anything to do with you, Gellert. Our duel has left too much of a mark on people's minds to be dismissed that easily. Besides, they have no proof. Everything the Ministry had on me and you was destroyed in 1946, as a gesture of gratitude for my service. They no longer even know that we spent a summer together in 1899, and that we made a blood pact. All they remember and have proof of is our duel. But with everything that's going on with Tom riddle, they're looking for ways to publicly discredit me. When you will arrive at Hogwarts, you will have to be very careful with those around you.**

**-Will we have to pretend we don't know each other?**

**-No, but you'll have to stick to your story. You barely met each other the summer of your 15th birthday. Nothing more than that. If you became friends, it was only after that. What you need to understand is that you will be constantly judged. On your talents, on your positions, on your decisions. Everyone has expectations of you, and it will be a matter of proving only some of them right. You will have to be beyond reproach this year. And you will have to stay safe.**

**-It looks like fun!**" Gellert ironed with a forced smile.

* * *

* * *

"**What do you think they're going to look like?**"

Harry closed his Transfiguration manual. He had been trying to read for three quarters of an hour in vain, it was time to give up and the question Ron had just asked had also been on his mind for days.

"**I saw pictures of Gellert Grindelwald in the history books,**" Hermione murmured.

The night had fallen and they were supposed to be asleep already, but knowing that any minute now, the "guests" they had been waiting for for two weeks were going to arrive and occupy the room just below theirs had not helped the trio to sleep and they had finally decided to give up.

"**But I suppose he has changed a lot,**" Hermione continued. “**He must have been over fifty years old in the pictures. It was at a time when... well, you know.**

**-And how was he?** Harry asked.

**-A little scary, to be honest. He had an ice face. Impenetrable. And piercing eyes.**

**-I didn't need to see his picture to guess the guy was creepy,**" Ron breathed. “**This guy is the greatest tyrant you can imagine. He did some really horrible things. I can't believe he'll move into the next room.**

**-Is he really that well known?**

**-Is Grindelwald that famous? I mean, Harry, do you ever listen in History of Magic?**

**-Of course not.**"

Ron puffed at Harry's obvious answer, but Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"**This year, we will really have to listen. Don't forget about the OWL. How will you learn your lessons if you haven't written them?**

**-Well, we'll take yours....**

**-Certainly not, Ron! It is important that you be aware that....**

**-Hermione? Tell me about Grindelwald, please...**"

Hermione took a few seconds to stare at Ron and Harry with the eyes of disapproval before finally deigning to answer the question.

"**The dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald really began to make himself known shortly after the First World War although his name had already spread in Europe since he had made a revolutionary speech on...**"

Hermione stopped suddenly. A heavy silence followed... before being disturbed by noises of doors and footsteps.

"**No... Do you think it's them?**"

Harry did not answer his friend and jumped up to the door. Hermione and Ron followed in his footsteps. They turned off the lamp in their room and quietly slipped into the hallway, trying to stay in the dark. On the landing, they found Ginny, who had already gone to the ramp to see down, and Harry could see the silhouette of the twins on the upper floor. Each of the occupants who were supposed to sleep had apparently woken up in the hope of seeing something of the famous guests.

"**Shh, Arthur, the children are sleeping upstairs.** »

Harry could see Molly's silhouette in the corridor below, but it was impossible to see who was in the hall.

"**Come in, come in, boys, don't stay in the hallway!**" whispered Mrs. Weasley with tense and anxious enthusiasm. "**You must be hungry, I've put a little gratin aside. Come in, at last!**"

Opening the way, Mrs. Weasley walked up the hallway towards the kitchen. A few rustles of tissue was heard and finally, two silhouettes emerged in the semi-darkness of the corridor. The silent witnesses all leaned over the ramps to try to discern the two new occupants they had been told so much about.

One of the two silhouettes passed in front of a moonbeam, finally offering a view to Harry and his friends. He was a young man of about fifteen years of age with brown hair carefully styled in a serious and somewhat outdated fashion. He had a long, slender silhouette with fragile shoulders but assured support. Harry could not see anything on the young man's face, but he seemed to easily guess the serene expression and clear gaze that occupied him, no doubt possible. As quickly as he appeared, the boy disappeared from the ray of light to sink into the darkness as he walked towards the kitchen, but his absence was replaced by the second teenager who finally came out of the darkness. The second boy was smaller but much stronger. He had the body of naturally gifted young athletes, and it was easy to guess that he would become a proud and strong man. He had a more flexible and feline gait than the first one despite a straightness of the shoulders and head carriage. This paradox denoted a certain relaxation but exulted in a strange mixture of seduction and danger. He had blond hair that was almost white in the moonlight. His hair managed to organize themselves gracefully into an indomitable but magnificent mane, its golden glow drawing in all the light that had the audacity to land on it.

Harry leaned further over the railing to try to see a little more of this boy whose name was being uttered with horror, and he felt Ron and Hermione coming forward too, obsessed with this strange and seductive silhouette. The latter stopped abruptly, like the breaths of its spectators... and slowly the boy turned around, his gaze sticking directly into Harry's, as if he was seeing through the darkness like others in broad daylight.

Harry was for a moment trapped in his disharmonious and bewitching sloes of the color of ice and night. This unknown boy stared at him for a moment and then, slowly, an amused and provocative smile was played on his lips before he turned away and resume his way, leaving the hallway for the kitchen. And Harry found his breath again.

"**Hurry, let's go,**" Ron breathed.

Each of the silent witnesses seemed to regain composure and quickly left the scene of their misdeeds, quickly returning to their rooms to pretend to sleep.

They did not whisper a word to each other about the two newcomers, but they knew that each of them was busy with questions and impressions. And Harry closed his eyes, falling asleep wondering if he was anxious or afraid to see those captivating eyes and that dangerous smile again first thing in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, don't hesitate to leave reviews and kudo behind and to let me know what you think of it.
> 
> Bisous !!!


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Albus felt like he was in one of those ridiculously exciting adventure novels. To be honest, Albus' life had never been ordinary. But for the most part, it had been relatively "routine". He would never have imagined that he would have become a more or less voluntary member of a secret organization, hidden in a headquarters and wanted by the ministry.

Thus, it is with a strange feeling in his chest that he crossed the threshold of the dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place with his lover and an old version of himself. Apart from the three of them, around the table, there were nine other people unknown to him, except one of the men he recognized as the Shacklebolt who had questioned him.

Slowly, to give Gellert time to pass in front - he had always been the most sociable of them both - Albus approached and sat at the table. One of the strangers, a little redheaded woman, placed two large plates filled to the brim with gratin in front of them, accompanying them with a kind smile behind which the young men had no trouble detecting the tension. However, Albus thanked her politely before refocusing on her colleagues. Apart from Shacklebolt, the old Dumbledore and the redheaded woman - whose name he still didn't know - he could see, on his right, another woman, dressed in a green dress with Scottish motifs and a severe bun, next to a man with a pathetic and exhausted look and a young woman with sweet pink hair and a candid face. Directly in front of Albus, sitting in the place of honor, stood a man with long hair and a steel look. The young man would not have been surprised to learn that these distinct facial features belonged to a Black. Finally, to complete this picture, three men stood back, a scrawny figure with a waxy complexion and hair forming a curtain in front of his hooked nose, what seemed to be a veteran of several wars with his jagged face and animated glass eye, and a last debonair man with a bald head who nevertheless showed a hair as red as the little woman's. This small, heterogeneous group stood in silence and detailed the newcomers with varying degrees of discretion. The old man, clearly the dean and leader of the group, enjoyed the potato gratin lightly, thus offering no support to the two young men subjected to all the intense attention of the room. Finally, it was the veteran who spoke first.

"**What about the Order? Can we count on them to help us in our mission?**

**-These two young people volunteered to help us,**" Dumbledore gently indicated between two bites.

Albus did not remember volunteering for anything, but he refrained from commenting, letting his alter-ego continue.

"**They will have their own mission to carry out. They can help Harry and protect him from Hogwarts. This will allow them to help the Order while alleviating ministerial paranoia.**”

Albus bit his lips, and Gellert seemed to follow the same path of thought as him. They had finished school and had no desire to go back. But they could not decently say that out loud. Apart from the old man, no one knew that they were a few years older than they looked, and that they had left school behind, so they could not reply anything and oppose the logic that they should go back to school as they did every year. However, it is not because they were forced to comply that they were forced to appreciate.

"**In Hogwarts?** the little redheaded woman hiccupped . **Grindelwald too?** "

Gellert said nothing, but Albus recognized this slight tension in the corner of his eye that always betrayed his irritation. His lover obviously had great difficulty assimilating the decline in which his name had fallen, he who had always imagined himself as a hero of the people and leader of revolutions. Albus was so saddened for him, and had only one desire, to scream at the world how wrong they were, how blind they were, to condemn in this way the one who only wanted to free them. However, he knew that his solicitude would annoy his friend more than anything else, so he held back, contenting himself with discreetly stroking his knee under the table when no one was looking.

"**Yes**," said the old man, as if he had not heard the outrage in the woman's voice. “**These young people will be invaluable to us.**

**-Wouldn't Grindelwald be more useful to us as a spy to Voldemort?** asked the veteran in a rough but thoughtful voice.

**-The Dark Lord,** Waxy-Complexion whispered, **would never place the slightest ounce of trust in a wizard as powerful as Mr. Grindelwald. Not to mention that their ideologies are so far apart that there is much to believe that You-Know-Who already considers him an enemy. Maybe a man to be shot at sight. It will also be the case for... Mr. Dumbledore junior. It is likely that a target has already been placed over their heads. The Dark Lord will do anything to avoid seeing these two enemies rise up against him.**

**-This is also how I perceived the situation,**" said the old man. “**And that is also where the absolute necessity to send them to Hogwarts comes from. I don't think they can be safe anywhere else.**

**-We are more than capable of protecting ourselves.**”

It was Gellert who had just interrupted, annoyed that people were talking about him as if he was not present. In addition, he could see very well through the old man's game. He knew full well that in addition to their protection, in addition to Harry's protection and the ministry's paranoia, the real reason to send them to Hogwarts was that they could be kept under surveillance.

"**This Voldemort can send us any army he wants. Albus and I are more than capable of sending them back to him in pieces. There is no wizard who will be able to have the upper hand over us, with or without Hogwarts.**”

The silence welcomed the young man's confident and sharp statement before the old man intervened.

"**Mr. Grindelwald has a point. While you should not underestimate your enemies, it is just as dangerous to underestimate your allies. In addition, there is a good chance that the Minister will try this year to remove me from the directorial office. I don't intend to give him any opportunity for that, but if he succeeds, then the presence of these two young people at Hogwarts will be an invaluable asset.**”

Albus could see that Gellert was holding back from grinding his teeth and understood him very well. This ability of the old man to never oppose himself but to reclaim every word to serve his interest was infuriating.

"**Is the Minister aware of their enrolment as Hogwart's studient?**" the gentleman with the bald head asked.

**-Yes. This is perfect for him with the agent he managed to place at school. He thus considers keeping an eye on them, which is obviously better for him than letting them go free.**

**-Which agent?** Albus finally asked, speaking for the first time.”

He could feel the difference in treatment between him and Gellert in a palpable way. When his lover was met only with fear and tension, Albus could only see kindness and tenderness in the eyes that lay on him. He hated it, and a visceral fear was weighing on his stomach. What if Gellert starts blaming him for that? The voice of his alter-ego cut him off in his thoughts.

"**At the beginning of the school year, our new professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts will have been placed there by the minister himself.**

**-It is Dolores Jane Umbridge,** commented Shacklebolt. **Fudge's right-hand woman. Very hostile to Harry Potter. She was there at his hearing and there is no doubt that she was strongly in favor of his expelling.**

**-If she is hostile to this Potter, she is also hostile to you, isn't she?** asked Gellert to the old man.

**-It's the least we can say,**" replied the man in the shabby dress. “**If Harry is enemy number one, Professor Dumbledore is the object of so much anger right now. It is likely that this anger will crystallize around you as well, young man.**”

Albus didn’t know what to answer to this last sentence addressed to him, but Gellert put his hand on his shoulder.

"**No worries. I'll protect him from these idiots**.”

Albus could not contain the delighted smile. He had always felt Gellert's possessiveness towards him. If the latter didn't have much opportunity to show it at Godric's Hollow - where they were just the two of them - it would be different at Hogwarts. And Albus would have lied if he had denied feeling a gentle warmth spreading in his chest as soon as Gellert showed these feelings.

Finally, the school year may have promised some memorable moments...

* * *

* * *

The next morning, all the inhabitant of the Order's headquarter got up much more quickly than usual. As soon as he woke up, Harry was quick to jump to the bottom of his bed and get dressed in a few risky gestures. Even Ron didn't growl or try to go back to sleep, which was extraordinary enough to be noticed. It had to be said that they all had a very good motivation to go to breakfast, other than Mrs. Weasley's delicious bread rolls. So the two friends came out of their room, waited a moment for Hermione and Ginny to finish getting ready, and all four of them went down the floors. When they entered the living room, they discovered a quiet and familiar room, with no other occupants than Molly, Arthur, Sirius and Remus. The latter two were sitting sipping coffee while the Weasley father prepared for work and the mother was frantically dusting the chimney.

"**Hello, children. Quick, sit down, the toasts are ready.**”

Hiding their disappointment at the absence of the two mysterious guests, the teenagers all sat around the table and began to eat slowly.

"**So? Grindelwald and teenager Dumbledore arrived?**” Ginny asked with a falsely innocent look.

One could almost have sworn that she didn't already know the answer...

"**Yes**," Remus said in a neutral tone that perfectly concealed his opinion on the subject. “**Last night, as planned. But Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk to them until very late in the morning, so you may not see them for a while.**

**-And?** Ron intervened, chewing laboriously. **What are they like?**”

The eyes of all the teenagers shone with interest and curiosity as they all turned to Remus to try to get his first impressions. But Mrs. Weasley cut short their interrogation.

"**They are like any other young teenagers, and you will behave with them as you should. I don’t want to see any of you harass them with questions, is that clear?**”

The disappointment now in their eyes, the trio and Ginny nodded and refocused on their plate to try to forget their spite.

"**... Good morning...**"

Heads rose again with hope... and this time it was rewarded! No one other than Albus Dumbledore, or at least a version of Albus Dumbledore, was standing in the entrance to the living room.

His youth was disturbing... Albus Dumbledore was one of those people who were easily imagined to be born old, so seeing in these aspects so young the distorted reflection of a face made to be worn caused the strangest of effects. The young man in the doorway had extremely soft features, as if barely sketched, enhanced by two clear and radiant blue pupils. They were the same color as the headmaster’s, but something else shone in them. There was no serene joy and twinkle that were so familiar to them. Instead, one could unseal a wild passion, a mixture of haughty coldness and impetuous bubbling. This gleam of determination contrasted so deeply with the young man's soft, youthful, almost nervous face, his clear, calm voice and his well-tamed wise brown curls that it produced a contrasting effect that was as frightening as it was inspiring.

"**Oh, my boy, already up?**”

Mrs. Weasley quickly welcomed the newcomer by forcing him to the table and laying a mountain of toast in front of him.

"**Are you sure you've slept enough?**" Molly continued. “**Yesterday's meeting ended so late....**

**-Everything is fine, the night, although brief, was very relaxing. And I would like to thank you for your welcome and for having prepared our arrival.**”

The little woman split herself with a dazzling and delighted smile, obviously charmed by the politeness of the young man.

"**And your friend? Is he still asleep? Do I have to put a few pieces of brioche aside for him?**

**-No, he said he never eats in the morning. He has locked himself in the library on the third floor, I don't know if he'll come down for lunch, he said he found two or three interesting books.**

**-In the Black’s library?** asked Sirius, with frowning eyebrows. **It is full of books that should not be put in all hands....**

**-Gellert will be fine, Albus replied with a polite smile.**”

Breakfast continued for a moment in silence, each pretending not to detail the strange newcomer out of the corner of their eyes. Albus was quietly chewing on a piece of his toast. An uninformed eye could easily have thought he was ignorant of the attention he was receiving. But, even if he could have continued this game for a long time to come - his condition of early genius having accustomed him to such looks - he decided to cut it short, both for his comfort and for that of the other young people at the table.

"**If you have any questions, you better ask them now. It is always the easiest way to get answers.**”

The other faces stretched out for a moment, looking at each other as if to try to define among themselves who would speak first. Finally, it was Ginny, the bravest, who led the march.

"**How old are you?**

**-Do you mean how many years I have lived or how many years have passed since I was born?**

**-It's true that Grindelwald is your friend?** Ron cut, not caring about the previous question.

**-We hardly knew each other, but our common condition certainly brought us closer. You would be surprised to discover in him a most interesting and friendly young man.**

**-Are they going to try to find a way to take you back to your time?**

**-That's enough, now!** Mrs. Weasley interrupted to the great dissatisfaction of most of the teenagers. **This boy has had to answer enough questions lately. If you've finished lunch, the living room on the second floor needs a good cleaning!**”

A little down, Harry and the others stood up, leaving their plates in the sink and walking up the stairs with a heavy step that announced their disappointment to everyone.

Albus, for his part, quietly finishes his toast, detailing the old motifs of the tapestry.

"**The question was worth asking, though.**”

It was the man with long hair who spoke with his deep voice, his gray gaze in the young man's blue eyes. Albus did not answer, chewing his toast without looking away. After a while, the man - a Black? - abdicated and formulated his thought.

"**Hermione's question. Are they going to try to send you back to your time?**

**-They who?**

**-Dumbledore. The other Dumbledore.**

**-I don't have a time. I'm barely a copy of a memory.**”

With these words, Albus quickly finished his cup of tea and got up.

"**It was very good. Thank you very much for this breakfast, ma'am.**”

He snapped his fingers and the plates washed themselves before going to their respective places. Albus left the living room after a last polite smile to the three adults who were still there.

The Black’s library was most impressive. With a two-story ceiling height, it offered the viewer a labyrinth of shelves that were full to bursting and were going on as far as the eye could see. It was difficult to define the precise dimensions of the room. Albus guessed that it must not be so big, but that the layout of the shelves masked its real proportions.

The young man wandered for a moment, feeling at home in the middle of the books, letting his fingers run down the shelves that the humidity had made curl up. Sometimes a few pieces of wood and paint crumbled under his fingers and fell into fine dust on the squeaking floor. It was so sad to see such a place in this state of deterioration. Most books had to have the pages glued by mold and the covers moth-eaten. But it was still a library and Albus felt comfortable there despite the musty smell.

"**Gellert?**"

His voice echoed for a long time between the shelves without finding a place to lay. And no answer interrupted it. However, Albus was sure that his friend had gone up there and the piece was probably not big enough that his voice could not cover the whole space. So he continued to wander between the shelves, this time with his full attention turned to where Gellert might be. Finally, he saw a black mass on one of the displays stand. He went there and, once he got close enough, he recognized the black sweater that the Ministry had given Gellert for his release. So he couldn't be far away.

Albus looked around unsuccessfully for a moment but, looking up, he discovered that a deep but slightly smaller shelf than its neighbours formed a wooden alcove above it, isolated from the rest of the library. Typically the kind of place where Gellert would come to lock himself up to read.

"**Gellert, come down. You know I don't have your climbing skills.**”

No answer, but Albus heard a squeak, proof if it was necessary that his lover was there. Sighing, the young man took a few steps back. Fortunately, he was no longer registered in any register and could do magic as he pleased, because if he had to climb this shelf "the muggle way", he would have been sure to break his neck. So he took his wand out of his pocket and pointed it toward the shelf, transforming the wood into a natural ladder that he could then climb without damage.

Once he was up, he could finally see Gellert, leaning against a wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, a large volume with a greyish cover on his lap. Albus stepped forward slowly and sat on his heels. He usually didn't object that Gellert didn't answer him. The latter was often so immersed in his thoughts that he forgot the world. But as Gellert's justified anger against Albus hovered over them, Albus was a little more hesitant when he tried to approach his silent lover.

"**Do you want me to leave you alone?**”

Gellert did not answer, still focused on reading his book.

"**Well, I won't bother you, I'll...**

**-I wanted to see if Aunt Bathilda had published any other books.**”

His voice was cold, unemotional. It was always a very bad sign....

"**She has published some on modern and contemporary history.**

**-And so?** asked Albus, anxious, who was beginning to see where things were going.

**-It's about me.**”

Without adding anything else, Gellert handed the book to Albus. He had no desire to read it. He would have preferred to close it immediately and burn it with a snap of his finger. But he knew that Gellert would be deeply displeased with this. Then, with sweaty hands, he grabbed the book and brought it back to him.

He read the page diagonally. He had never wanted to finish a chapter so quickly. Whether it was descriptions of massacres, popular manipulations, the consequences on the Muggle World, from false speeches to death camps, from political imprisonment to inhuman torture, Albus may have barely touched them with his eyes, they still found a way to inscribe themselves in his mind. Finally, with trembling hands and watery eyes, he closed the book.

His throat was so tight that he was not sure he was able to breathe, let alone talk. He put the book on the ground, between Gellert and himself, as if it were an artifact full of the darkest magic there is. And that was probably the case....

Gellert, on the other hand, was not looking at Albus or the book. His eyes were riveted to the distance, his eyebrows frowned as if in the middle of a reflection. But Albus knew how to read this face more surely than others read books. He knew Gellert wasn't thinking. He was dwelling on it.

"**You did the right thing by arresting me.**”

It had barely been blown into a murmur that echoed painfully in the silence of the library. And one could hear a huge pain in that breath. Slowly, Albus set aside the book, pushing it back into a corner, and he approached Gellert until he could grab one of his icy hands. Finally, Gellert deigned to look at him.

"**You did the right thing by arresting me. I had lost myself.**

**-I didn't stop you. And you didn't get lost. Others have done so. Not us.**”

The idea was clear. Once again, they had to go back to that promise. Do not feel guilty of something you have not done at all. Gellert looked down for a moment, closing his eyes, receiving his friend's sentence. And, finally, a smile was born on his lips in spite of himself. He had nothing of the victorious or imperious grin that often sublimated his angular features. No, this one had something more fragile, more hesitant. Like a little boy who's barely comforted.

"**Aren't you mad at me?**”

With a sigh of relief and tenderness, Albus let go of Gellert's hand to caress his cheek.

"**Of course not! It's not you. All these things, this has nothing to do with you.**

**-What if... what if there was a little bit of me in all this. What if all this was just the fruit of a seed already planted here?**"

He gently tapped his chest with the tip of a hesitant finger. Albus took his hand back and gently hugged their fingers together before coming closer to kiss his lover's phalanges.

"**There is no destiny or nature in terms of evil, Gellert. Only choices. Only choices and nothing else. You didn't make any of these choices. You are not guilty of any of these crimes.**

**-And if I made those choices again. By mistake.**

**-It won't happen.**

**-Why?**

**-Because it won't be your choices. That will be our choice. This time, Gellert, I won't leave you. I'll stay here, by your side. And I'll help you build the world you dream of.**”

And, after these words and a new kiss, Gellert made love to him right here, in this isolated alcove, the book of his misdeeds forgotten a few centimetres away.

* * *

* * *

Surprisingly, despite the strange general situation, the days went by slowly at Grimmauld Place. For Harry and his friends, their hours were split between housework and laziness, going from one to the other according to Mrs. Weasley's wishes. In the end, they didn't have that much opportunity to see their two mysterious guests. Albus was the most visible. If he didn't help with the housework, he didn't miss a single meal and could often be seen with Mrs. Weasley, helping her in the kitchen.

It had to be said that the young man had charmed everyone. Of great politeness, he seemed to be the perfect teenager, concerned about others and almost docile in his obedience. He spent a lot of time locked in his room with Grindelwald (of whom he seemed to have become a close friend quite quickly), but as soon as he went out and made himself visible, not a minute went by without Molly and the other adults making some comments over this mature and well-behaved boy.

As for Gellert, that was a different story. He was even less present than Albus. He spent his days locked in his room, and only went out for one meal out of three. The rest of the time, he would not hesitate to ask his friend to get him something for him in the kitchen. It was difficult to say what he could do with his days, but it obviously absorbed him completely. And it wasn't for the worse considering the tension that was tangible every time Gellert was in the presence of the adults. It had to be said that he was almost the opposite of Albus. Far from being docile and obedient, he always had on his lips that little mocking smile and his disharmonious eyes shouted provocation. It was not uncommon for the meals he attended to end up in large collective debates on one political topic or another, debates that Gellert invariably ended up winning thanks to passionate arguments and rhetorical bashing. However, if adults didn't like him, Gellert was much more pleasant with other young people of his age. Unlike Albus, who remained quite distant, Gellert had taken the time to talk to each of the occupants of the house, asking about their names, passions and philosophies. He was the first to sympathize with Harry's outrage when he was sidelined from the Order's decisions, to help the boys who were sent to clean all day with a few discreet spells, to discuss at length with the twins their professional project in which no one but them believed. All in all, Harry realized it well, Gellert was someone who was very easy to appreciate. He seemed to have answers and solutions to all things, and he had such a capacity for empathy that it was easy to share one’s problems and anxieties with him.

All in all, and even if he condemned Gellert's verbal violence towards adults and authority figures, Harry found the petulant but sensitive Gellert Grindelwald much more appreciable and impressive than the perfect and cold Albus Dumbledore. It was at such a point that he could not reconcile in his mind what he had been told about wizard’s History with what he had before him, a teenager invested and sensitive, patron of good causes and furious against the lethargy and injustice of society. How could a young man who had protested so much when he learned of Harry's trial and the way Rita Skeeter had treated him turn out to be the greatest tyrant of the 20th century and a figure similar to Hitler?

Anyway, it was during one of their few discussions - which had become one of Harry's favorite moments - that Gellert finally brought up the subject of Hogwarts, just a few days before the start of the school year. Harry, Ron and Hermione had been sent to the kitchen to help clean the supplies, while Gellert spent time sitting on the counter, busying himself with watching Albus, who was very absorbed in making a clafoutis.

"**There are four houses in Hogwarts, right?**”

Albus only answered with a slight nod, but Ron was surprised by the question.

"**Didn't you know that?**

**-Why would I know that?**

**-Well, you're in fifth year aren’t you?**

**-Gellert was at school in Durmstrang, Ron,**" Hermione breathed.

From the trio, she was the one who had the most trouble with Gellert. Surely knowing as much as she did about the History of Magic must prevent her from feeling comfortable in any way in the presence of Grindelwald.

"**There are no houses in Durmstrang?**

**-No. No sorting of any kind. Fortunately.**

**-Why is that fortunate?** Ron asked himself.

**-The sorting in the house favors communitarianism and the pride of one’s colors. It is a fertile ground for nationalism. Durmstrang had its flaws, especially with its excessive militarization, but at least it spared us that. If the point system Albus told me about is still in place, then I strongly condemn it. This unites students against each other, not according to who they truly are, but according to the category to which they belong. Moreover, wanting to summarize a human being to a single kind of quality is profoundly reductive and completely eclipses all the complexity and depth of the human soul. Not to mention that it predetermines you to act in a certain way and to aspire to a certain kind of ideals. During childhood in addition, namely the period when a mind is most susceptible to influence**.”

Gellert had hardly been there a week, but the trio had already gotten used to this kind of harangue that seemed so dear to the Germanic. Over-analyzing everything and using it to support a revolutionary point of view was Gellert's idea of a healthy and friendly hobby.

"**You'll have to be sorted if you start Hogwarts this year,** Albus said from the work surface where he was hulling the cherries.

**-I know. I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon at Hogwarts to organize my transition from the Durmstrang program to Hogwarts. I guess I'll be sorted then. How exactly does it work?**

**-It's easy!** explained Ron. **It's just a hat. You put it on your head, and pouf, you have your house.**

**-And what are the four houses? I know there's Gryffindor, it's Albus'. But the others....**

**-You have Hufflepuff for the good guys, Slytherin for the bad guys and Ravenclaw for the nerds.**

**-It's... Manichean,** Gellert couldn't help but comment.

**-It's a little more complex than that,** Albus pointed out.** But yes, these are the reputations of these houses.**

**-Charming.**”

* * *

* * *

“_**Oh, I see a bold mind! Very bold! There is no lack of ambition, too. I see a great desire for success. But driven by a deep sense of... justice. More than anything, you're unable to bear the injustice, aren't you? You absolutely must act, you must fight all this. You want to be admired, it is certain. But you are ready to sacrifice everything, including your own person for a just and good world. A perfect world as you imagine it, where wizards, the oppressed minority, will finally be free to be themselves. There is no doubt, in the face of danger, you have only one thought: fight and resist. I see a lot of quality in your head, yes, a lot of quality. But you want to define yourself by the noblest of all, don't you? You are a warrior ready for battle. You want to mark the world, but you want it to remember you as their savior, the one who stood up to evil. The one who lit them up in the night. Yes, I'm more and more certain of that. Despite your many qualities, your cleverness, your sense of self-importance, there is one quality that is more important to you than anything else and makes you proud of what you could become. I have no doubt now. You are a pure and noble... GRYFFINDOR.**_"

* * *

* * *

"**I went to the Knockturn Alley this morning.**”

Albus, lying against Gellert, gently stroked the naked skin of his belly and chest, enjoying the thrill he could create under his icy fingers. He knew he should have protested against Gellert's statement. After all, his lover had left the house in secret, without him, without even warning him, leaving him behind. But Albus was deliciously immersed in the blissful post-orgasmic fog and forgave his lover for his little secret before he even started to resent him. He probably should have asked him what he thought it would be good to do in that mischievous alley, but Albus didn't want to talk, he just wanted to snuggle up in the warmth of the boy who shared his bed.

"**Basically, I just went there to complete our potion ingredients, in case we wanted to do a little more interesting experiments once we got to Hogwarts.**”

See ? Nothing serious! No reason to worry, as usual.

"**But I met someone.**”

Albus looked up this time. It was dark in the room, but the brightness of a streetlight in the other side of the window lit up Gellert's face with a yellowish light. The latter fixed the ceiling with a thoughtful and soft air.

"**I didn't know her. She was a very old woman. But she knew me. She came to talk to me. I thought she was crazy at first. She spoke very quickly, crying half to herself. She was all red and sweaty and she stammered at every word. It wasn't glorious. But I finally understood. She recognized me from before. I mean, not before for me. But before for... the other me. I mean, you know what I mean. She was... one of my followers.**

**-Followers?**”

This time, Albus had straightened up on an elbow, to better fix Gellert, but he was still immersed in his memory and thoughts.

"**Yes, she told me that she always knew I would come back eventually. That everything couldn't stop the way it had stopped.**

**-But... she's wrong, isn't she? It's all over now. You’re not going to go back to being the man you were, right?**”

There was a long moment of silence during which Albus could gradually feel his belly tightening before, finally, Gellert laid his eyes on him and burst out with a clear laugh.

"**Of course not! What are you thinking?!**”

Gellert wrapped his arms around Albus who lay down against his lover's warm chest.

"**Of course not,**" Gellert breathed this time more for himself than for Albus. “**But it's still an army.**

**-What do you mean?**

**-She told me there were many of them. Like… really a lot. Ready to follow me wherever I go.**

**-They want the massacres back.**

**-They just want to obey me. Whatever I ask them. Or rather, whatever we ask them.**

**-They are dangerous fools.**

**-They are convinced people. And it is a resource like any other. Neither bad nor good. It depends on what we decide to do with it.**

**-I don't think doing anything with it is a good idea...**

**-I didn't say we were going to do anything about it**," Gellert finally stalled.”** Simply, this army exists, and it is good that we know about it. That's all. The rest we'll talk about later.**”

For the time being, Albus dropped the subject, shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes, to breathe in the wild smell of his lover. Yes, they'll talk about it later. For the time being, only the silence of the night mattered.

"**I wonder if I have many followers among Hogwarts' students...**"

* * *

* * *

"**Wake up, boys! Wake up!!!**”

Albus opened his eyes painfully. He would have wanted to ignore the drumming on the door. After all, he had spent almost all night discussing everything and nothing with Gellert, fomenting plans of all kinds and planning for the future. But the piercing voice that resounded from the other side of the door made it impossible to fall asleep again.

"**Wake up, boys! Hurry down to lunch! You probably don't want to be late for Hogwarts Express!**”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> For the net chapters, which will of course take place at Hogwart, I will follow the book so there will be fewer chapters with fragmented narration like the last two.
> 
> As usual, don't hesitate to leave a feedback to let me know what you thing of all this ! It always encourage me to write faster ! ;)


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Albus was used to be the center of attention. Being an early genius capable to apparate at 9 years old, being published in Transfiguration Today for an article written at 12 years old, being prefaced on occasion by Nicolas Flamel, receiving an Order of Merlin 2nd class at 14 years old for his discoveries in Charms, all this had accustomed him to the hidden looks, public opinion and rumors about him. And yet, he had never felt an oppression similar to the one he was feeling now.

He had first imagined that he would be relatively incognito. After all, no picture of him had been taken, let alone published since his "awakening" in August. However, the second he crossed the barrier of platform 9 ¾, he understood how wrong he had been. It was first a grandfather who was probably here to accompany his grandson. Then it was a young man with a prefect's badge who stared at him for a little too long. Then a student's mother, who hugged her child a little more when he passed in front of them. Finally, less than two minutes later, the word had spread from word of mouth, and the whole platform seemed to have noticed that Albus Dumbledore had joined them. He heard his name in conversations, he saw fingers pointing at him in the crowd, he felt the children putting themselves on tiptoes to better see him.

Gellert, on the other hand, his beret stuck on his skull remained relatively anonymous. No one seemed to have recognized him, nor did anyone seem to suppose that it was possible that the boy standing next to Dumbledore could be Grindelwald.

“**Don't pay attention to them.**

**-Easy to say. They're not staring at you. I feel like I'm in my first year, when I had to take Hogwarts Express a week after my father was incarcerated.**

**-Look on the bright side.**

**-Which one?**

**-I haven't found it yet, but as soon as I know, I promise I'll tell you.**”

Albus couldn't help but smile. He could rely on Gellert to always de-dramatize the situations in which they might find themselves. The two young men looked at each other for a moment, and kept themselves from laughing. Since his mother's death, Albus had forgotten what it was like to have such a light heart. No responsibility, no constraints, and the world in his hand. Gellert had often made him feel this way, but his sister's shadow was still hanging over his head. From now on, and even if he certainly would not admit it aloud, he was free and deeply delighted. Sometimes he wondered what had happened to Ariana and Aberforth, but then he saw Gellert's wink or heard his characteristic laugh and completely forgot about it. That probably made him a bad brother, but he couldn't be unhappy about it.

For the time being, the two boys were standing a little apart from the group, while their companions poured into the "goodbye" and last-minute instructions. Although they had spent almost two weeks in Grimmaurd Place, none of them had really bonded closely with the members of the Order, and they therefore felt a little outside the collective embrace that was standing in front of them.

“**The dog, he is Black?** Gellert asked after seeing Harry hugging the animal from afar.

**-Yes, I think so. He must be an animagus.**

**-Why didn't you ever try to become an animagus?**

**-Who says I've never tried?**

**-Me. If you had tried, you would have succeeded.**”

Albus had a delighted smile. He was very used to compliments, but Gellert's always managed to create their own little effect.

“**I've never seen the point.**

**-Yes, from the point of view...**”

Finally, the goodbyes were cut short by a controller's whistle and, armed with their large suitcases, the two young teenagers joined Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins who were getting into the nearest car. A few hand greetings later, the train shook and finally set off in a cloud of steam.

“**Good!** one of the two twins exclaimed at last. **That's not all, but we have a lot to do. We're going to meet Lee at the front of the train. See you later!**”

The twins quickly moved away, leaving the others alone in the middle of the corridor.

“**Shall we go and find a compartment, then ?** Harry asked after a long silence

**-Er…**

**-We’re… well… Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage,** Hermione completed with embarrassment.

**-Oh. Right. Fine.**”

Albus said nothing but a simple glance at Gellert's face made him understand that they were on the same page. Clearly, Harry had not yet digested the fact that he had been dismissed in this way and this underlying tension was gangrening the fusional bond between him, Ron and Hermione.

Ron tried again to explain for a moment, stammering how boring and painful all this seemed to him, but Harry only answered a new "Right. Fine." which obviously was nothing near sincere. Finally, Ron and Hermione added a small “see you” and they moved towards the front of the train.

“**Come on,** Ginny finally said, **if we got a move on we’ll be able to save them places.**”

The small group set off but it didn't take long for Gellert to speak his mind.

“**If I were you, Harry, I wouldn't worry too much about this whole prefect thing.**

**-I don't worry at all!** Harry exclaimed on the defensive.** I'm happy for Ron. He deserves it.**

**-Of course not, he doesn't deserve it!** Gellert replied with an amused laugh. **It was obviously you who deserved this title. You have done more for Hogwarts and Dumbledore - sorry Albus you know who I mean - for the headmaster than anyone else in this school. It was you who should have been given that title. But first, it is obvious that the headmaster saw it more as a burden. So, he didn't want to punish you, he wanted to spare you. Second, and much more importantly, you shouldn't worry about a stupid title. What's it going to do for you in concrete terms? Proof of the recognition of a bunch of old fossils? What's the point? Who cares, right? We're better than that! The whole prefect thing is nothing but a carrot to force you to behave a certain way. Don’t make a big deal out of it.**”

Harry answered only with a shrug, but Albus could clearly see that, despite his detachment, the young man took Gellert's words to heart. They continued the rest of the walk in silence, until they reached the end of the train, without finding any free compartments. In the last car, they met a boy with a round and nervous face. Obviously, Ginny and Harry seemed to know him.

“**Hi Harry!** he exclaimed out of breath, pulling his big suitcase behind him. **Hi Ginny and uh…**”

He turned to Albus and Gellert, squinting in a silent question. Albus politely reached out his hand, which the boy grabbed by reflex.

“**I’m Albus Dumbledore. And this is Gellert.**”

The boy opened his big, bewildered eyes and detailed them nervously. However, he held back from any comment, it was obvious to Albus that the boy was too uncertain and shy to even dare to ask a question or hold a stare.

“**I-It's a pleasure to meet you....**

**-Me too, uh...**

**-Neville. Neville Longbottom.**

**-Nice to meet you too, Neville Longbottom.**

**-What are you doing in the hallway, Neville?** Ginny asked, interrupting the akwardness that was beginning to settle in.

**-Everything is full... I can't find a place.**

**-What are you talking about? There’s room in this one, there's only Luna Lovegood in here.**”

Albus bent over to see the inside of the last compartment and immediately understood why the boy named Neville had not even considered the idea of going in there. The only person occupying it did not give him any particular desire to approach her. With her long, tangled blond hair and globular eyes, the young girl give out an impression of insane absurdity. She stared at the air in front of her without blinking, as if a fascinating but invisible spectacle was unfolding in front of her. It was very slowly that she turned her head towards the entrance of the compartment when Ginny opened the door. Cautiously, Albus let Ginny, Harry, Neville and Gellert pass in front of him with their huge suitcases before entering the confined space himself. Seeing Neville fighting with his luggage, Albus took out his wand with a soft gesture and, after a slightly circular movement, he had all the belongings flying so that they would tidy up on the rack.

“**Whoa…**”

It was the one called Luna who had just exclaimed in a white and softly articulated voice.

“**You're good at magic.**

**-That's what I was told.**

**-Who are you, you?**

**-Albus.**

**-Like Albus Dumbledore?**

**-It would seem so.**

** -My father published an article about you. He doesn't think Professor Dumbledore is responsible. He says it's a scheme of Ambrosius Flume, Honeyduckes' manager, to promote his new collection of cards of famous witches and wizards.**”

Albus did not answer but sat opposite to Luna, putting Gellert between them as extra protection, but that was not necessary, Luna now focusing all her attention on Harry from who she did not take her eyes off.

The discussions slowly began to flow and soon the atmosphere was soft and fluid within the compartment. Luna and Ginny were talking about their respective holidays, while Neville was ecstatic in front of Harry about the new plant he had had for his birthday. Albus even began to feel a little more comfortable, taking an interest in Neville's vast and passionate knowledge of Herbology. It was his attention to the conversation that allowed him to see the drama coming and to conjure a protective bubble around the plant the second Neville had the stupide idea of pricking it with the tip of a feather. The plant immediately exploded into a green liquid but, thanks to Albus' promptness, the secretions remained enclosed within the bubble and all were spared.

“**It's a very interesting experience, Neville. But I don't think anyone here wants to be bathed in Stinksap.**

**-S-sorry, I didn't think it would react like this.**”

After Albus had made the green product disappear, the journey proceeded slowly, punctuated by a few visits. First a dark-haired young woman who seemed to have come all the way here just to say hello to Harry. Then Ron and Hermione who returned from their appointment more than an hour after the train left. But it was the last visit that was the most eventful. The door opened on a group of three boys. One of them, obviously the chief, with blond hair slicked back and grey and cold eyes, had a bad grin on his face that didn't bode well.

“**What?**” Harry asked immediately in an aggressive tone.

It was obvious that there was a passive between them and Albus guessed that the green and silver tie that the newcomer wore was no stranger to all this. The age-old enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin was not unknown to anyone, and it had to be assumed that ten decades later, nothing had changed about that.

“**Manners, Potter, or I’ll have to give you a detention. You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.**

**-Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.**”

Despite the insult, the newcomer remained stuck in the entrance, his nasty eyes quickly passing over Albus to crash on Gellert.

“**Grindelwald, right?**”

Gellert did not answer, waiting for the next step with a slight warning sneer.

“**Draco Malfoy. And this is Crabbe and Goyle. I guess after all this time... things are a little fuzzy. But when you're ready to find your own people, the real wizards I mean, you'll know in which house you can find us.**”

And with those words, he gave Harry one last ferocious glance and leave the compartment.

“**He seems very nice to me, this boy!** Gellert irked after a long moment of silence.

**-He is the son of Lucius Malfoy. A purist moron who thinks that only pure blood should rule over others.**

**-What Malfoy just said is not surprising,** Hermione explained. **There's a good chance they want to get close to Gellert Grindelwald. Your reputation must make them want to.**

**-Why?** asked Gellert, who didn't see what he had to do with that.

**-Your ideology serves pure blood.**

**-Certainly not!** **I'm in favor of ending the status of secrecy! But all souls blessed by magic have the same value in my eyes.**

**-This is not what History remembers,** Hermione added nervously.

**-Well, history is wrong. I don't even come from a wizard family, why would I want to promote such a laughable notion as the purity of blood?**”

Neville, Hermione, Ron and Ginny stared for a moment at Gellert, incredulous. Finally, it was Ginny who vocalized their surprise.

“**You don’t come from a wizard family?**

**-No! Gellert said, slowly beginning to feel annoyed. Why is everyone convinced that I'm of pure blood? You are defending the children of the muggles but with such a preconceived idea about me you reinforce prejudices.**

**-It's just that, your ideology...**

**-Stop talking to me about my so-called ideology. First of all, I'm not the person from your history books. Then, obviously you didn't understand anything about my ideas. Then stop using it as an argument against me. I was born of a muggle father and a squib mother, but that does not mean that I am not capable of fully embracing my condition as a wizard and possessing one of the most powerful powers of this century.**”

The silence welcomed Gellert's annoyed tirade and everyone looked down, ashamed of their mistake. Only Albus was relatively amused by the effect his lover’s speech had just made. He was one of the only people in the world to know Gellert's past and origins, and he was delighted to see his friend use it to silence slander about him.

“** So, Neville, what else can your plant do?** Ginny asked in a falsely innocent voice.”

Discussions resumed slowly as the train ran through the summer landscapes, becoming increasingly dark as the sun set lazily on the horizon.

“**I always hated uniforms,** Gellert grumbled to Albus when the time came to change, as a moonless night and heavy rain hit the windows.

**-You had a uniform in Durmstrang.**

**-Yes, but at least they spared us the ties!**”

Gellert was busy fighting against his tie knot and looked like he was losing miserably.

“**You give me a hand?**" he finally asked when he saw Albus' simple but impeccable knot.

**-I... I don't know.**”

Albus looked nervously around, noting with relief that no one had listened to their exchange. It was one thing to do this kind of thing in the privacy of their room, but in front of everyone, that was a whole other matter.

“**You're still there?** asked Gellert, rolling his eyes.

**-No, that's not that,** Albus quickly replied, lamentably trying to find an excuse.** It's just, we can justify a rapid friendship, but this... it's something else. You know what I mean.**

**-As you wish,** Gellert sight with a venomous look.”

He passed in front of Albus without a word, clearly showing him his dissatisfaction before going out after the other students.

The walk took place in a harsh silence for Albus. He had managed to slip into Harry's group, but Gellert had left without a word, and had already disappeared in the dark night. Albus therefore abandoned the idea of catching up with him and was content to integrate himself into the group as they climbed into the carriage.

“**It’s all right. You’re not going mad or anything. I can see them too.**”

Albus turned his attention to Luna, who, a little far away, had just murmured this to Harry.

“**Can you?**”

Albus then noticed for the first time the winged, skeletal and black as night horses pulling the carriage. He had never seen them before, but he immediately understood what they were. Thestrals, those mysterious creatures that only appeared in the eyes of those who had already seen death. It seems that the loss of his mother must have changed something deep inside him.

“**Oh yes, I’ve been able to see them ever since my first day here. They’ve always pulled the carriages. Don’t worry. You’re just as sane as I am.**

**\- It's not so much a matter of sanity,** Albus explained to a confused Harry. **These are called Thestrals. Creatures that can only be seen by those who have already witnessed someone's death.**”

Harry's face immediately darkened and Albus could not help but wonder who the young man had seen die for the wound to be so fresh...

* * *

* * *

“**How old are you?**

**-Are you really Dumbledore?**

**-How did you manage to travel to the future?**

**-How was the past?**

**-Can you read the mind of the real Dumbledore?**

**-How come you took a picture with Grindelwald?**

**-Are you going to send him back to prison, like last time?**

**-Can you give me private tutoring in Transfiguration? I've never been able to get even an P....**

**-What does it feel like to be a picture?**

**-Is that true what the Prophet says? Are you part of a plan to overthrow the Minister?**”

Albus closed his eyes and gently stroked his forehead, trying to control his migraine as questions flowed around him. Since the meal had begun, he had been the target of all conversations, everyone trying to get some information out of him and getting to know the famous young Dumbledore. He would have liked Gellert to be at his side to help him a little, but he was still sulking, a few places away, leaving Albus alone in front of all the attention. Actually, Grindelwald's name was scary enough that no one dared to speak to him. The name, or the fierce look he displayed as he stabbed his purée with his knife.

“**Leave him alone, at last!** Hermione exclaimed, trying in vain to use her power as a prefect to calm the situation. **He cannot answer all the questions.**”

With much effort, she finally managed to calm the younger ones who returned to their own conversation, finally leaving Albus alone.

“**Thank you,** he said politely.

**-You’re welcome. It can't be easy, there's no point in your own Gryffindor comrades making things even more difficult.**

**-I think it's only a temporary lull, but it's nevertheless appreciable.**

**-It will settle, I'm sure. Then, as a fifth year, we have so much to do that I think the minds will very quickly be busy with something else.**

**-What do you mean?**

**-Well, the OWL! It's going to be a tough year.**”

Ah, the OWL. Albus remembered perfectly the day he spent his own. And his NEWTs. Optimal for each of them. It had not been a great challenge for him, especially since he had had a Seventh Year level as early as his Third Year. Today, he was even more relaxed about the exams than he had ever been before. Because, not only was he sure to succeed, but he also knew that they meant nothing. As if failing his exams meant anything. Gellert was a perfect example. He proved to the world that you could be the most brilliant wizard without having any ASPIC to his credit. However, Hermione already seemed tense and nervous at the thought of future exams, and Albus gave her a smile that he tried to make compassionate.

“**I'm sure we'll be fine. There is no reason why we should fail more than previous generations.**

**-Yes, it must be easy for you,** Hermione breathed. **People say you were the brightest student Hogwarts has ever seen. Is that true?**

**-I don't know all the students Hogwarts has seen. But it's true that they say so, yes....**”

Albus could see a worried wrinkle on Hermione's forehead and he immediately recognized the look on her face. It was the air of school geniuses, who subscribed to the first places, who saw in Albus a living insult to their success. He was willing to bet that Hermione would be able to make every effort to try to keep her role as top of the class. Albus was almost sorry for her....

However, he remembered that more important things were currently on his mind.

“**The other... Professor Dumbledore... He told Gellert and me a little bit about the situation, Albus started, lowering his voice so that no one else but Hermione could hear him. With Voldemort. He told us Harry was safe at Hogwarts.**

**-Relatively,** Hermione muttered. **Every year, he manages to get into trouble and put himself in the most dangerous situations.**

**-And last year too? Is that why he saw the Thestrals for the first time today?**

**-Thestrals? Where?**

**-And so? Last year?**

**-Yes, sorry. There was the Triwizard Tournament and Harry... Harry got involved in all this against his will. In the end... In the end Cedric, a boy from Hufflepuff. He died, killed by You-Know-Who. In front of Harry's eyes. It was horrible.**”

The remark left Albus thinking for a moment. Something was wrong with the whole thing.

“**So Voldemort went into Hogwarts to kill this Cedric boy?**

**-No. A follower of You-Know-Who was infiltrated into Hogwarts and he managed to set up a whole scheme to send Harry outside.**

**-He seems particularly motivated to see Harry die... But why?**

**-What do you mean?**

**-Why Harry? Why is it so important to see him die? What's so special about him?**

**-Well, he's the only one who survived the death spell. And it was he who destroyed the Dark Lord.**

**-Yes, when he was a baby. I read that. But why did Voldemort try to kill a baby? Why him in particular.**

**-I don't know... Maybe he wanted to kill his parents and Harry was just there in the wrong place.**

**-Mmh....**”

Albus said nothing more. There was something strange about this story. Something was wrong without Albus being able to put his finger on it. Why Harry? Why had he been targeted, and why had he survived? He felt that there were some underlying issues that were not yet understood by him. He immediately saw that Dumbledore had not been completely honest with them. Moreover, since meeting him, he had been wondering a lot about what in life had pushed him to start becoming so secretive and manipulative. It seemed to offer only certain selected pieces of truth and to play with the lives of others as if they were pawns on a chessboard. After all, he had lied to Schaklebolt about the true story of the photo but had still sent him to the Ministry to save his alter-ego. Then he misused the truth in front of the members of the Order when he argued that the boys' presence at Hogwarts would be positive for Harry's safety. Certainly, this was true, but Albus felt very well that the main reason was that they would be properly monitored to prevent Gellert - and himself? - to follow the same path as his old alter-ego. All this presented Albus with the portrait of a Dumbledore skillful in his manipulations and lies, who led his soldiers on a spider's web from which he knew very well which wires to pull to achieve which effect.

The meal ended with these thoughts and the dishes soon disappeared from the tables to make way for the headmaster’s speech. This tradition, at least, had not changed. But Albus could feel a little embarrassed by the looks that went back and forth between him and the old man who stood in front of the silent room.

“**Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices, First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.**

** Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door.**

** There is also a situation that needs to be addressed this year.**”

The silence was heavy in the room as all attention was turned to the headmaster’s speech. Obviously, the whole audience was waiting for this fateful moment.

“**For those of you who read the newspapers, this is not a surprise, but I think it is nevertheless necessary to address the situation in a collegial way. Indeed, it is true that this year Hogwarts will welcome two new students from the Fifth Year, Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore.**”

The murmurs resumed, each student commenting to his neighbor on his thoughts about the announcement.

“**The situation is indeed delicate, but it is up to you not to make it any stranger than it already is. These young people have no cause in the situation in which they are victims, so they will not have answers to the questions that may well be on your mind. So I am counting on you to show them the full extent of Hogwarts hospitality by showing you as friends and allies rather than interrogators in a configuration that is not simple for anyone.**”

Dumbledore paused in his speech, and Albus could feel that the looks toward him had changed. From fearful and suspicious, they had become brilliant with conviction and sympathy. Instead of lecturing them, Dumbledore had simply charged the students with a mission, that of welcoming and even protecting the two newcomers. In other words, with a few words alone, Dumbledore had succeeded in changing the mindset of nearly the entire Gryffindor table by creating a strong sense of community. Albus could feel Gellert's dissatisfaction without seeing him, but at least now they would spare them a lot of questions.

“**We have had two changes in staffing this year,** Dumbledore continued as if he had just announced tomorrow's weather. **We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.**

** Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the…**

**-Hem, hem.**”

The headmaster stopped and Albus focused all his attention on the little woman with the toad's face who had interrupted his alter ego.

“**Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome.**”

The woman had a horrible girlish voice that made Albus' hair stand out. He did not know this person but, already, he was certain that he would not like her at all. Yet, educated as he was, he left nothing to appear and continued to display an air of polite listening.

“**Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!**”

The further she progressed in her speech, the more obvious it became that she was wrong. Albus was not the type to have many friends, and he was sure he would never count this woman on his already limited list. However, this excessive infantilization of the audience, this false and meticulous attitude, set the tone for the kind of person that this Umbridge could be. Albus took a look at Gellert and could see that he was slightly leaning forward and staring at the little woman with a fascinated look. He who loved to dismantle the processes of manipulation in speeches must have been at the height of joy at the moment...

“**The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.**

** Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation must be found and conserved.**

** Because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.**"

Gellert was now so bent forward that he was beginning to encroach on his neighbor’s space. With Hermione and Albus, he seemed to be the only one who paid the slightest attention to the speech. But where Hermione showed only contempt and revulsion for Umbridge's words, Gellert seemed amazed. Albus knew him well enough to know that he did not agree with the idea that the Ministry could interfere in this way and censor knowledge - which was in simple words the subject of the speech - but obviously the giving of such a speech here, in the great hall of one of the most famous wizard schools in the world, was exalting him. Or rather, it must have been the spectacle offered by the passive audience, who received these words without understanding anything about them. To see how easily such a speech could be applauded must have fascinated Gellert. Albus could see very clearly the mental machinery shaking behind these mismatched eyes and he guessed that Gellert could easily imagine himself in the place of Umbridge, exciting this audience so easily manipulated with his own words.

After that, the evening ended quickly, and it was a battle to get out of the Great Hall and into the various Common Room. Albus had been living in this castle for seven years and was able to walk around with his eyes closed. He would have liked to have been able to show Gellert all these places that had welcomed his childhood, but the silhouette of his lover quickly disappeared into the crowd. Obviously, Gellert was still mad at him. It was then that Dumbledore got up, ignoring the faces that still detailed him, and walked with a heavy step towards the seventh floor. He snuck behind the portrait of the Fat Lady following an older student who looked like he had the password and walked through this Common Room that he knew so well without a look for anyone. Exhausted by the attention he was receiving, he did not linger at all and simply climbed the stairs four at a time until he arrived in front of the Fifth Year dormitory. He pushed the door to see that the place was already inhabited by two boys.

One of them, who had until now been busy hanging posters of a Muggle sport that Albus recognized as football on the wall, rushed up to him, enthusiastic.

“**Ah! So it's you, Dumbledore. I'm Dean Thomas. And this is Seamus Finnigan. Nice to meet you!**”

Albus greeted him back with a tense smile, but he had no desire to start any conversation. However, this should not be Thomas' opinion on the matter.

“**It's crazy, though! Sharing your dormitory with Albus Dumbledore! Will you help us with our homework? I heard you got Optimal at all your OWLs.**”

Albus smiled forcibly and took a look around. He obviously knew what Gryffindor's dormitories looked like, but he had already said goodbye to them and didn't expect to see them ever again.

“**Your bed is here!** Dean informed. **We gave you the bed next to Grindelwald, because...**”

He didn't finish but the anxiety audible in his voice spoke for him. The boy named Seamus, for his part, had still not opened his mouth and an attitude of defiance and mistrust darkened his features.

“**I get it.**”

Albus didn't feel like making any comments and simply went to sit on his bed. It had been a very long day and it was time for it to end. He nevertheless took the time to empty his suitcase and tidy up his belongings. However, the delicate peace that had settled in was interrupted by the arrival of Neville and Harry, who was obviously in a moody mood.

The discussion began lightly but quickly escalated.

“**Me mam didn’t want me to come back.**

**-What?**

**-She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts**”

Seamus' sentence resonated for a moment in the silence of the room. Albus was beginning to understand Seamus' angry look. And he cursed Harry to ask the question when the answer was so obvious.

“**But… why?**

**-Well, I suppose… because of you.**”

Obviously.

“**What d’you mean?**

**-Well she… er… well, it’s not just you, it’s Dumbledore too…**”

Albus straightened himself up to these words. He was beginning to be particularly annoyed because of people who thought they had the right to use this family name as if it didn't belong to him.

“**She believes the Daily Prophet?** Harry asked.** She thinks I’m a liar and Dumbledore’s plotting against the Ministry?**

**-Yeah, something like that.**”

The atmosphere in the room became tense and Harry turned away from the conversation and put himself in his pajamas with big furious gestures. But Albus was not done.

“**You are mistaken, on my account,** he said in a serene voice that did not reflect his inner bubbling.** I've never been greedy for power.**

**-You, maybe not. But he, I mean the headmaster, you don't know him. I mean, not really.**

**-And your mother knows him better?**

**-Don't talk about your mother.**

**-You're the one who started this topic. You're telling me your mother thinks we're just some power-hungry conspirators. It seems normal to me to have a right of reply.**

**-You weren't there last year. What do you know about anything?**

**-It seems obvious to me that there is only an intellectually limited person to believe that if I had wanted power, I would not have had it.**

**-Is that my mother you treat like that?!**

**-That's what she seems to be, from my perspective.**”

It was unnecessarily aggressive, but Albus was getting tired of everyone thinking they had the right to know him, to judge his actions and to criticize them all the more. Within a month, he had gone from the young prodigy that everyone acclaims to the power-hungry old fool. He had not made as much effort to come out of his father's shadow if it was to rush into his alter-ego's. He had done so much to be admired and respected and that was his reward?

Seamus, for his part, obviously did not take well the comments about his mother and clenched his fists so tightly that Albus thought he was going to jump on him. He slipped his hand into his pocket to grab his wand, and things would probably have gotten out of hand if Ron hadn't come in at that precise moment.

“**What's going on here?**

**-Dumbledore insulted my mother.**

**-I only established a fact. Someone who really believes what the Daily Prophet can write is necessarily inherently stupid.**”

Seamus almost jumped at Albus' throat but Ron stood between them. Obviously, he was beginning to understand how the situation had become what it is, and the fact that Harry was staring at Seamus with a dark look from his bed did nothing to help.

“**Seamus, calm down!** exclaimed Ron. **Don't be an idiot!**

**-Me? An idiot? So, you're going to tell me that you believe them, maybe. About Voldemort, and the fact that they had nothing to do with their own reappearance!**”

And Seamus nodded to Albus. He was beginning to feel a cold and creaking hatred in his chest.

“**Yeah, I believe them!** Ron said with determination.”

Seamus looked astonished for a moment, then finally took a venomous look at the assembly around him.

“**Right, yeah. Pretend you're not saying exactly the same thing to yourself as I am!**

**-What do you mean?** asked Albus.

**-Yeah, what do you mean? **Ron added, quite unnecessarily.”

Seamus looked at them both with contempt and finally exploded.

“**How could he come back with Grindelwald, huh? These two knew each other?! Everyone's like, Dumbledore's a hero because he beat Grindelwald. But no one talks about the fact that they knew each other! That they grew up in the same village!**

**-Grindelwald didn't grow up in my village.**

**-That's right, yeah! That's what you keep saying, but everyone knows that’s not the truth.**

**-Oh,** Albus said, imitating an exemplary calm. **And what is it then, the truth?**

**-You're a traitor! That's what you are! You knew Grindelwald! You're friends with this monster! This homicidal maniac!**”

Albus did not need to take out his wand. Taken by his momentum, he stretched out his hand in front of him and animated the curtains of the bed behind Seamus. They wrapped themselves around him in a split second, tightening him without difficulty and gagging him at the same time. Soon, Seamus found himself hanging ridiculously from the curtains of his own four-poster bed.

“**If I were you,** Albus said in a frosty voice, **I would choose my enemies more wisely, and I would especially avoid attacking those who could make a fool of me with the snap of their finger.**”

He knew he was stupid to react like that, that he was only proving Seamus right. But he couldn't hold back. He couldn't stand it when Gellert was being insulted in front of him. And it was time for the word to spread. Let everyone know that anyone who would attack Gellert should be held accountable to him.

“**Albus, release him…**”

It was only then that Albus realized the attention he was receiving. Everyone was staring at him in the face of this burst of pure magic. But Albus was too angry with this Seamus boy and himself to start a de-escalation of the situation.

He closed his suitcase in a loud noise before heading for the exit, snapping his fingers at the last moment to free Seamus. He went down the steps at all speeds and took refuge in the crowded Common Room. He sat in the most secluded chair, which faced the window and the large black mass that the lake formed at night, and he began to regain his calm. How could he have acted so stupidly?

He was used to having more control over himself. He was even the definition of control. From his first year, faced with mockery and harassment, to his last year as the perfect example of the studious and popular head boy, he had let control rule his life. At the time, his father could have been insulted right in front of his face and he would not have reacted in any way. And then, it only took one idiot shouting some stupide insults for Albus to cast a spell on him.

It was all Gellert's fault. Since he entered his life, each of his landmarks had been overwhelmed. When he was calm and thoughtful before, now he found a strange beauty to passion. When before evil and good were drawn in monochrome colors in his mind, today the boundaries were dangerously blurred. While all his life he had seen his magic as a dangerous companion to be wary of, Gellert had taught him how to embrace it and what pleasure one could have in being overwhelmed. A month with Gellert. A month with Gellert was all it took for him to go from the bastion of temperance to an individual barely able to control himself when it came to insulting someone close to him.

He cursed himself and cursed Gellert, but he ended up getting lost in the contemplation of the starry sky that offered itself entirely naked to his eyes, so much that he did not notice the Common Room emptying itself. He jumped violently when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he met Gellert's worried face.

“**What are you doing here?**

**-You’re done sulking?**”

Gellert had a slight grin between amusement and irritation and sat on the armrest of the chair. Albus checked that no one was there to see them and finally sighed.

“**I'm sorry about earlier. Look... that has nothing to do with you. I'm just... I'm not ready to publicly assume this kind of relationship right now.**

**-You mean a homosexual relationship.**”

Albus often hated Gellert's direct frankness and this time was no exception.

“**Don't say that like that. Like I’m being a horrible person for saying it. It's easy for you....**

**-How is it easy?**

**-It's easy because you, if you want, you can go see girls. You could fit into the mold anytime you want. I do not. I'll always be like this. I could never be normal. I mean, like the other boys. Besides, we're not the same. You're... you, and I'm not.**

**-What's that supposed to mean?**

**-You have this ability to feed on contempt, and hatred. For you, it only proves that you are better and different. That kind of thing destroys me.**

**-We'll have to make enemies if we want to change the world, Albus.**

**-Yes, to change the world, I’m willing to. But I don't see how shouting our relationship to the world will do anyone any good.**

**-It will do some good to all those who are hiding in the shadows.**

**-But I don't care about them. Everyone has their own problems. I... I don't know how to explain it to you, Gellert. I'm just... I'm just too scared.**”

Gellert took a deep breath, but the sneer disappeared from his face. He didn't agree, but it was obvious that he understood.

“**However...** Albus continued.** I have no difficulty in assuming our friendship. Actually, I'd have a hard time not doing so.**

**-What do you mean?**

**-I'm not saying it's true... but it's possible that I may have cast a spell on one of our classmates because he was a little rude to you.**”

Gellert laughed sincerely, obviously any conflict already forgotten.

“**If I had known you were here to defend my honor, I would have thrown myself into more conflicts.**

**-It's not funny, Gellert!**

**-Yes, it's very funny! I can already imagine you running all over Hogwarts to find everyone who dares to say bad things about me and chase them with your spells.**

**-That would be a good occupation. We may get bored this year.**

**-Not necessarily....**

**-What do you mean? Are you going to study for your OWLs?**

**-No, but I talked to two or three Slytherins...**

**-Don't talk to them, they probably have bad intentions.**

**-I thought you were against preconceptions.**”

Albus cursed for himself but let Gellert continue.

“**In short, I have spoken with two or three students... and I think I have some supporters among the students...**

**-And what are you going to do with that?**

**-Well, build an army, of course.**”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, not a lot happened in this chapter (that's why you didn't have to wait for a long time before getting it) but it was necessary to begin the story.  
I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless !! <3


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Professor Dumbledore sighed deeply

He knew that accepting his past mistakes at Hogwarts would create its share of difficulties. But was asking for more than twenty-four hours of peace too gullible and optimistic on his part? It wasn't even the end of the first day of class yet, and Professor McGonagall had already asked that he call the two new students in to lecture them. It was Monday evening, and his young alter-ego and Gellert, one annoyed and the other satisfied, were sitting on the other side of the desk, obviously not worried by the convocation. Minerva, on the other hand, with a severe face, was sitting next to them and looked at them with a disapproving gaze.

“**What was the reason for such an urgent appointment on the first day of school?**”

Dumbledore asked the question, but he obviously knew the answer. He knew just about everything that was going on in his school, and he obviously paid particular attention to the two students sitting in front of him.

“**These two young people didn’t wait to make quite an impression,** McGonagall pointed out without taking her eyes off the culprits. **Mr. Dumbledore... I mean... not you, Albus... but...**

**-I understand you, Minerva,** said Dumbledore the eldest.

**-Mr. Dumbledore had a fight last night with one of his comrade and went so far as to use magic to attack Mr. Finnigan**.”

The old headmaster stared at the young man for a long time and noticed that Albus had the good taste to look ashamed. This type of behavior was absolutely not characteristic of the young man. Dumbledore remembered that as a teenager, he had been particularly serious and docile, obedience and calm having always come naturally to him. Never then would he have thought of going against Hogwarts' rules, let alone if it was to show violence to one of his classmates.

But Dumbledore also remembered that, even if it did not seem like it, the young man was still facing a grief that he had not yet taken the time to accept. It had only been two months since his young alter-ego had tragically and violently lost his mother, whom his sister had killed before his very eyes. To have to witness this, to have to stage a domestic accident, to lock up his grief to take care of his brother and sister, all this had been of great violence for the young man, even if he himself did not realize it for the moment. So there was nothing surprising about these excesses of agressivity. Especially since the headmaster imagined very well that the cause of the conflict between the two students must have something to do with Grindelwald, and the old man could obviously understand that this subject could not be discussed with impunity in the presence of Albus.

“**As for Mr. Grindelwald,**" McGonagall continued, "**out of the four lessons he received today, three professors gave him a detention. And the last teacher, if she abstained, it was only because Mr. Grindelwald did not even bother to go to class.**

**-It was the Divination. What could the teacher teach me? I have more visions in a week than she has in a lifetime...**

**-I do not need to tell you,**" McGonagall cut without looking at Gellert, "**that the reason for the detention was mainly due to Mr. Grindelwald's insolence towards the teaching staff.**

**-This is my way of opposing my citizen opinion. I am against the vertical prioritization of the transmission of knowledge. I don't acknowledge professorial superiority.**”

These words could have been perfectly understandable if they had not been said with an insolent grin. It was obvious that Gellert was more involved in some kind of game than in political engagement. He was trying his limits, trying to see how far he could go. Dumbledore expected this kind of behavior. He knew Grindelwald perhaps better than Grindelwald himself. And in the letters they had regularly sent each other since his former friend was locked up in Nurmengard, they had talked a lot about their youthful failings, Gellert himself had pointed out that, as a young man then, he had this unfortunate tendency to use his great gift of eloquence for actions less noble than those he claimed to serve. That is, for his own amusement or for the pleasure of establish his superiority on his audience.

As headmaster, it was Dumbledore's duty to correct this kind of behavior, but he knew very well that he should not alienate Gellert. He knew that if his plans went as planned, there would come a day when he would need the young man's trust and confidence. That's why he just leaned a little more in his chair.

“**Thank you, Minerva. I'll take over from here.**”

Minerva seemed surprised to be left out of the situation, but she quickly understood and, after a last look at the wrongdoers, excused herself and left the office.

A heavy silence set in during which Dumbledore detailed the two students in front of him. It was obvious that the latter were less proud under his scrutinizing and imperturbable gaze. Finally, the headmaster decided to focus his attention on the one of the two who looked the least sorry.

“**I know that provoking is part of your nature, Gellert, but what do you expect to get from it?**

**-Just because I have agreed to come to Hogwarts doesn't mean I'm going to play the model student. Especially when it comes to suck up a moron who unfairly uses her power to harass a student.**

**-What exactly happened?**

**-It is this Umbridge woman!** Gellert said. **Guess what she's saying. That Voldemort didn't come back, of course. We could have guessed. But then she went after Potter, humiliating him in front of everyone, calling him a liar.**

**-And then...?**

**-And then I told her that she was a greater plague to the wizard world than a lunatic dark lord risen. What she told me then was that I had to know a lot about lunatic dark lords.**

**-And then...?**

**-And then I may or may not have said that if I were the dark lord she thought I was, I would need nothing more than a finger snap to make censors like her disappear from the face of the earth.**"

Dumbledore passed a finger along his aquiline nose, receiving the news. This did not help his business with his conflicting relationship with the Ministry. It was likely that Fudge was already aware of this little incident, which would quickly add to the long list he already had of all his reasons to be suspicious of the old headmaster.

"**I don't see what you’re gaining out of it, Gellert.**

**-Nothing. Nothing but now Potter is wrapped around my little finger.**

**-Really?** Albus asked.

-**Not exactly, but it will come. In a few weeks, he will notice that he can trust me, much more than his friends.**

**-I don't want you to come between Harry and his friends,** Dumbledore pointed out with authority.

**-This will be the natural order of things. It is obvious that Potter no longer evolves in the same world as his two sidekicks, and since you don't seem to want to talk to him, someone will have to guide him through this future war that is coming.**

**-And it won't be you.**”

Dumbledore knew from the beginning that leaving Harry with Gellert was dangerous. Actually, leaving anyone with Gellert was dangerous. The young man had this ability to turn around minds and hearts and manipulate them to his will. But Dumbledore trusted Harry and thought that he had a heart pure enough to remain undisturbed by Gellert's influence. He looked forward to see if the year would prove him right.

Gellert did not answer, which was the height of the submission he was capable of. And finally, Dumbledore saw fit to end the interview. He could have had something to say. For example, the fact that Gellert had started to approach some people a little too suspiciously, or that he knew that the young man had discreetly infiltrated the restricted section last night. But he didn't think anything good could be accomplished with open confrontation. No, Gellert needed more finesse. He would find the right time to talk to him, but it wasn't today.

“**Well, I think that's all for tonight.**

**-What? Gellert wondered. No lecturing?**

**-Would this be useful in any way?**

**-No... but usually it doesn't stop people from trying. But I guess that proves, once again, that you're smarter than _people_.**

**-Thank you, I appreciate it. Now, Gellert, I'd like to have a private conversation with Albus, if you don't mind.**”

Immediately, Gellert lost his smile. Dumbledore could see in his eyes his mistrust and dissatisfaction. He liked nothing less than to be put aside, especially when it came to Albus. He must have imagined a thousand scenarios in which he was being prejudiced in any way.

“**Why?**

**-Because I have things to talk about that only concerns him.**

**-Gellert can stay,** Albus simply shrugged.

-**I'm afraid I have to insist.**

**-Anyway, Albus will tell me everything!** exclaimed Gellert with anger. **He has no secrets from me.**

**-So there's no reason to worry, is there?**"

Gellert seemed to hesitate, and for a moment he thought he was going to refuse outright. Finally, he got up from his chair and walked to the door but Dumbledore cut him off one last time.

“**And, Gellert, I understand that you can't stand school, but please don't threaten to kill anyone anymore. It would destroy me to see you sent back to Nurmengard.**”

Gellert stopped in the doorway, staring at the old headmaster for a moment. He must have seen only sincerity in those old and worn eyes. He finally shrugged and left the office.

“**You shouldn't have alienated him like that,** Albus said immediately. **It's true what he said. I have no secrets from him. By asking him out, you’ve only given him reason to be suspicious.**

**-For his sake, you went so far as to commit an unprecedented act of dark magic, it's high time he stopped being suspicious of you. Besides, what I had to say was only about you.**

**-And what is that?**”

Albus backed into his armchair and looked at his alter-ego for a long time. The latter, with his brown curls falling obediently on his forehead, his clear eyes, and his carefully adjusted uniform, was the very image of the studious and uneventful student. Yet Dumbledore could see the coldness behind his eyes, and he knew from experience that Albus was certainly guilty of it, but much more a victim.

“**I wanted to ask you a question to which I hope an honest answer.**”

Dumbledore allowed a time during which he detailed the attentive face of his alter-ego before finally continuing.

“**How are you?**”

Albus was sincerely surprised. It was obvious that he was expecting a dramatic question because it had required for Gellert to leave the room.

“**Er… fine.**

**-A lot's been going on lately for you. Not only since you arrived at that time, but since the beginning of the summer. Everything has to change so quickly, and it's natural that you feel lost or overwhelmed.**

**-I'm never been overwhelmed**," Albus mechanically exclaimed.

Dumbledore could recognize Gellert's mark and the confidence he had instilled in a young, impressionable Albus. But if it looked positive in theory, Dumbledore knew that nothing could be further from the truth. In his youth, Gellert had convinced him that, under the pretext that he was intelligent, he could never be weak. This had always encouraged him to hide his fears and sorrows so that he would always appear to be up to the task. And he suspected that it would take more than a simple conversation to convince his young alter-ego to open up a little. But that didn't mean he couldn't try.

“**What happened this summer with your mother, you need to talk to someone about it, Albus.**”

The latter looked down. The old headmaster could see and recognize in the look on his face what was going through the young man's head. Albus didn't want to think about it. Until he thought about it, it remained in a corner of his mind without disrupting its functioning. But he must have had the impression that the second he began to dwell on it too much, this black and painful mass would grow, spread out and devour everything in its path.

“**Gellert will listen to you. He will be able to understand that....**

**-No!** Albus said firmly. **I don't want to talk to him about it. He wouldn't be interested.**"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. He himself, despite his century of experience, was not sure what good Gellert could bring to the situation.

“**Then maybe to someone less important.**

**-Who? I have no one left. I learned two days ago that Nicolas and Pernelle had died. And even if there are some who are still alive, they are your friends, not mine.**

**-Here at Hogwarts, there are people who are ready to help you.**”

Albus replied nothing. He didn't seem to believe these words and he just detailed his hands without looking up to meet Dumbledore's eyes. He sighed. This kind of wound will take time to heal, he knew it. In his owwn life, it had taken him several years to even understand that he was injured there. But he nevertheless hoped to be able to help his alter-ego. Do things right for them.

“**Good. I won't bother you any longer,** he sighed finally. **But know this, the day will come when you need friends. They alone will stand by your side until the very end. And there is in friendship a power of great value.**

**-Do you have any friends? I mean true friends.**

**-Aren't you here to succeed where I failed?**”

* * *

* * *

From Harry's point of view, the beginning of the year was particularly tedious.

Protected from the outside world at Grimmaurd Place, he had not realized how sinister the world’s thoughts of him were. Whether it was the dark looks and fingers pointed in the middle of the anonymous crowds, the First Year looking at him as if he was suddenly going to devour one of them, or the proportion of unbearable teachers, more important this year than the previous ones. Whether it was Snape's mockery, Trelawney's death threats, or Umbridge’s incessant and painful detention, life at Hogwarts had completely lost this sweetness that Harry had known until now.

Moreover, the presence of the OWLs covered the students' minds with a shapeless and threatening shadow. Hermione was already on edge, about any subject related in any way to the courses and future exams that were supposed to define the rest of their existence. Harry, for his part, had no idea what he could do after Hogwarts. Ron's project for Auror's career seemed attractive to him, but he couldn't imagine himself so far into the future.

The exams alone were not the only explanation for the tension in the Fifth Year since the start of the school year. Apart from the troubles concerning Harry and his controversial speech on Voldemort, the classes themselves had changed atmosphere. The presence of a certain Albus Dumbledore was part of the reasons why. Not content with dislodging Hermione from her place of top on her class, he was now setting a level so high that it was difficult to keep up with him. There wasn't a class going on without Harry being confronted with his colossal ignorance. Whatever the subject, Albus seemed to be able to compete with the teacher and led them into such sharp discussions and debates that the rest of the students were left lost and confused. This was not to Hermione's taste, as for the first time in her life she had the impression that she was not up to the task. As a result, she spent twice as much time as usual working and studying, leaving her in a state of gloomy irritation that was hard to bear even for her two best friends.

However, the grade level of his class was Harry's least concern. The latter was much more concerned with Umbridge and her detentions than with his place in the overall ranking. It was more and more difficult for him to go to the office of the Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts when he knew what was waiting for him there. Fortunately, he was not alone in having to face it. Hermione and Ron, both concerned by the position of authority of Umbridge, did not dare to do much, but this was not the case for Gellert. From the first class, he had taken Harry's defense against Umbridge without hesitation, insulting her as "an incompetent servant of the system" and as "a censor of inalienable rights". No one really understood the insults, but it was enough to justify a detention, and Gellert found himself in the same situation as Harry, much to Harry's relief.

Over the past few days, Harry had been very close to Gellert. He didn't see him so much as a true friend, but rather as the one who was able to understand him when Hermione and Ron couldn't. He was indeed alone in seeing through Harry's excesses of anger, his feeling of abandonment and his devastating fears about Voldemort. Sometimes, the two teenagers, although so different, would spend hours talking, after dark, in the deserted common room, about everything and anything. Gellert had a real ability to understand the other and to offer the words that needed to be heard.

To everyone's surprise, Gellert was quickly integrated among the students. When everyone, at the beginning of the year, wanted to stay close to Albus and away from Gellert, today things had changed enormously. Albus appeared as a cold and distant student, of great maturity that was well above the turmoil of socialization. Gellert, on the other hand, seemed close and approachable, deeply friendly. He was the funny and mysterious boy at the back of the class, who talked back to teachers and shone with his genius, without ever eclipsing the others. He was the one who immediately spotted when something was wrong with someone, and who seemed able to provide the miracle solution to any problem.

All in all, things were better at Hogwarts with him around. Harry even came to kind of enjoy the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes knowing that he would certainly attend one of those famous will fights between Umbridge and Gellert. This allowed Harry to satisfy his need for violence and the cold anger that had surrounded his heart since that summer.

"**You should do something about it.**”

It was Gellert who had told him that, while they had one of their late discussions, in an absolutely deserted Common Room.

“**About what? Harry had asked him.**

**-About your anger**

**-What anger?!** Harry had exclaimed, angrily.”

Gellert had just smiled at him, completely indifferent to the aggressiveness of Harry's words.

“**It doesn't bother me. I can understand. After what happened last year. After all you've been through, I can understand how the hassles of normal life can upset you so much. But it's not healthy, Harry. First, it makes it difficult for your allies to show you their support and stay on your side. If you keep attacking them like that, soon, even Ron and Hermione won't be able to defend you anymore. Second, and listen to me carefully because it's extremely important, it's obvious that your new aggressiveness is being redirected. You have to ask yourself the question and find the real source of this anger. Otherwise, you will remain helpless against it.**”

Harry had not listened to anything and had blown him of, which did not seem to particularly offense Gellert. He had just withdrawn after a little pat on Harry's shoulder.

Harry wasn't angry for nothing. He had reason to be! Hermione and Ron were fighting all the time, it would drive everyone crazy! Snape was even more unfair to him than usual. Umbridge did nothing less than torture him during his detention. Dumbledore ignored him. Oh, and yes, the whole world considered him a damn liar in need of attention!

Afterwards, when his heart and mind were calmer, Harry couldn't help but notice that Gellert was in a similar situation. His whole world had been turned upside down. Voldemort wanted to kill him almost as much as Harry. He also attended Umbridge’s detentions. And, if he wasn't considered a liar, others saw him as a racist and genocidal monster, which was probably much worse. It was probably for this reason that Harry was so simply able to confide in this stranger about who he had been told so badly.

But that didn't mean he was ready to admit that Gellert was right! Quite the contrary! He preferred to think that no one was really able to understand his pain and anger! Things seemed simpler to him that way. He was better of alone. As always.

* * *

* * *

From Albus' point of view, the beginning of the year was particularly boring.

He had obtained all his NEWTs less than two months ago, and was now resuming a Fifth Year. In other words, a monstrous boringness had slowed his mind since the beginning of the school year. The classes went by and were the same. He also felt that the tension around him was rising a notch with each passing day. He was used to jealousy. His apparent ease, his natural brilliance, all this had caused him trouble more than once, and apparently this year was not going to be any different, but he cared little. The incident with Seamus had gone around the castle and now everyone knew that it was a particularly bad idea to attack him. They left him relatively alone, but he didn't care. He had never liked making friends, and staying with himself suited him perfectly.

However, he had always been very good at making himself appreciated by teachers. The positive side of things was that at least there was no longer the horrible Professor Phineas Nigellus Black to spit his venom on all the students who had the misfortune of having some muggle blood in their genealogy. But he had been replaced by Professor Snape, who did not hide his preference for students of his own house. From the very first classes, Albus immediately noticed that the man with the waxy complexion, who was nevertheless a member of the Order, appeared to be particularly hostile towards Harry, and towards all the Gryffindors in particular, even Hermione who was the only one (with Albus) to be able to meet his demanding academic criteria. However, if Albus could possibly apprehend such contempt - although he was in fact beyond worrying about the teachers' opinion - he quickly noticed that he had to be the exception that confirmed the rule. Snape was not particularly friendly, but he had a kind of reserve towards Albus that seemed almost like kindness, compared to the way other Gryffindors were treated. In fact, Albus had great esteem for the Potion Professor's great knowledge and understood perfectly the annoyance he could feel when confronted with these ignorant baboons who seemed to be his students. Of course, Albus strongly condemned his teaching methods, but he knew that Snape, like him, was touched by the loneliness of the great geniuses.

However, this did not prevent Albus from getting along better with other teachers, such as Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick, with whom he spoke for a long time after the course ended. Albus had nothing more to learn about Transfiguration and Charms, at least nothing more that a Hogwarts’ professor could teach him, but he loved the debates of ideas he could have, on this detailed point of these subjects or on that obscure theory. Moreover, it was not uncommon for Flitwick or McGonagall to be able to redirect him to a few contemporary readings and Albus was forced to admit that he was often amazed by all the progress made in just a century. He was particularly fascinated by the study of the muggles, with all the discoveries they had been able to make in such a short time. He had not decided to follow this lesson, preferring arithmetic, runes, and magical creatures, but he spent a lot of time in the library studying all that modernity had brought to this world.

Apart from Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, however, there were not many people that Albus liked. He had a slight affection for Bathsheda Babbling, Septima Vector and Aurora Sinistra, although he didn't think they could teach him much, but that was about it. Professor Binns had not changed, and already at the time, Albus found him horribly boring, his classes plunging him into a deep lethargy from which only his seriousness and his need to please could get him out.

And then, of course, there was Professor Umbridge. Albus' presentiment at the beginning of the year feast had finally proved to be correct. He didn't like her, not like her at all. He found her laughable and vulgar in her strategies. And it was obvious that the enmity was reciprocal. Umbridge hated Albus, and she hated him even more because the young man gave her no opportunity to justify her anger. He was the most attentive, docile and brilliant student imaginable. He copied the passages of the book without saying a word, answered all the questions that could be asked to him, and knew perfectly well how to make himself forgotten. And that enraged Ombrage, who was obviously waiting for only one reason to give him the detention of his life. He did not find this course so painful. Boring, yes, but they all were. There, during the hours of Defense Against the Dark Arts, he simply had to occupy his hands at the copy of the manual and his mind to think about all the subjects that might interest him. The only reason he was having more and more difficulty with these courses was Gellert. The latter's sense of justice was so severely tested during these courses that he ended up in detention each time after a few long rants about the abuse of authority and oppression exercised by the ruling power. Albus spent all his evenings preparing ever more effective ointments to heal Gellert and Harry's punished hands.

Apart from that, life was relatively easy at Hogwarts. Since he didn't waste a single second studying, and did his homework during school hours, Albus found himself with a lot of free time during which he was going to the library. He had managed to obtain special permission from McGonagall to consult the books on the Restricted Section and he did not deprive himself of using it. As Gellert spent most of his time in detention because of all the professors he was alienating, and also because no one wanted to see Grindelwald near a book on the Restricted Section, it was Albus who continued their research of the summer, especially on contemporary politics, on the new conflicts that were stirring this world, or on the magical European constitutions. But what occupied most of Albus' free time was obviously the deathly hallows, which still obsessed his friend as much as ever. It is on this matter that one evening, the two lovers had isolated themselves in an abandoned room on the fourth floor to discuss.

“**I thought of something, Gellert.**

**-About...?**

**-The Deathly Hallows.**”

Gellert, who had until then been busy gently kissing his neck, had stopped immediately to stare at Albus with his bright and excited eyes.

“**Do you have any more information about this?**

**-No, but I know where to find some.**

**-What do you mean?**

**-Well, I was in the library, in the tales and myths section, and I thought it would take a lifetime to study everything. And that's when I thought of it. We know someone who's spent a lifetime looking for the hallows. Moreover, someone who has a real interest in helping us.**

**-Who is that?**

**-Well, you. Your alter-ego is still alive, as far as I know. If we can contact him, he can tell us what he knows about the deathly hallows. He must have some leads for us! Maybe, he has even found them.**”

For a moment, Gellert was silent, observing Albus, without moving an inch. Then he kissed him fiercely.

“**You're so fucking brilliant, Albus!**”

Albus loved to surprise Gellert. And that night, the pure joy that shone in Gellert's eyes reminded him of the night they took that life-changing picture. During the first few days at Hogwarts, Albus was afraid of being far from Gellert. At Godric's Hollow, it was just the two of them, and the lethargy of a hot summer. There, Gellert was surrounded by attentions, potential supporters, infinite perspectives. Anything to divert him from Albus. Especially since Gellert had been very busy lately, constantly involved in a project for which Albus could only assume the motivations. It was for this reason that Albus had shared with him this thought on Gellert's alter-ego that he had not had at the library but the second he had learned that they had just gained a century over time. He had kept this idea up his sleeve as an asset he had just used. Albus had reminded him why exactly he was so useful to him. And now Gellert had a project to share with Albus.

Find a way to get in touch with Gellert Grindelwald, the best-guarded prisoner in history.

* * *

* * *

From Gellert's point of view, the beginning of the year was particularly exciting.

It certainly wasn't because of the lessons, though. If he had not managed to stay for the seven years in Durmstrang, it was largely because of his insolence. History had remembered that it was his experiences with dark magic that had caused him to be expelled. The truth was that the headmaster had joyfully covered his research until the day Gellert began to be too independent and question his authority. And things had not improved over time. In Hogwarts, the authority was less oppressive than in Durmstrang, but it was already too much for Gellert. He was one of those people who were just not made for school.

Since the beginning of the school year, there was not a single day that passed without Gellert openly opposing one of the teachers, refusing an exercise, questioning an instruction, discussing the knowledge transmitted. In other words, he was a truly unbearable student. But nothing worked on him, neither the moral lessons, nor the detentions, nor the withdrawal of points. He remained untouchable and was delighted about that. Moreover, his rebellious attitude made him surprisingly popular. His remarks were very amusing to his classmates, and he had become a real show for them. Sometimes it annoyed him to know that the other students did not understand the purpose and origin of his words and revolts. But on the other hand, he loved the admiration he saw in the gullible eyes of his comrades, so he willingly bowed to the routine of diatribes and harangues that he had set for himself.

But it was outside of school that Gellert really enjoyed himself. It must be said that the Hogwarts students were much more interesting than those in Durmstrang. By the end of his sixth year, Gellert already knew each of them and led them with ease. There, he had a whole new social horizon to discover and he was passionate about it. He learned at his own risk who was receptive to his ideas and who was fiercely opposed to them. He had started the year with a serious prejudice with his reputation as a murderer that stuck to his skin. But, little by little, he managed to win people's hearts. A few jokes here, a few long philosophical and intimate conversations there, and soon, the students forgot who they thought they was dealing with and saw in Gellert their potential future best friend. Gradually, Hogwarts' defenses fell around him and he managed to touch the hearts of those who dared to speak to him.

But Gellert, as always, was looking much further ahead. He already felt that Hogwarts could provide him with fertile ground for his future revolution. A thousand children (who will therefore be the people of tomorrow) who could become the receptacle of his words and speeches, and this for ten long months. By the end of the year, he was certain to succeed in rallying them all to his cause. But for the time being, he preferred to focus on some key members. He found his happiness especially with the Hufflepuff. These, with their hearts on their hands, and their ideals of justice in their heads, were the ones most likely to drink his words. Moreover, it was Gellert's favorite house, even more so than his (which was, according to him, mostly composed of morons who think with their muscles much more than with their heads). He got along very well with many of Helga's house members, especially the older ones, with whom he sometimes spent long hours discussing the state of the world and what needed to be done to rectify it. He had particularly approached a Hufflepuff. The latter was called Hannah Abbott. She was the prefect of the Fifth Year, which many people tended to ignore too much. Indeed, it was easy not to worry about the so kind and friendly Hannah. But Gellert had seen in her a strong soul, filled with a strong sense of justice, which was too afraid to stand up for herself. So all he had to do was take the first step, be the first person to really make it look like he cared about her, and Hannah had immediately throw herself into his ideas and speeches.

However, Gellert knew that he would have to recruit more people. The Gryffindors were probably going to be the hardest to deal with. They were indeed the most attached to prejudice, and their chivalrous morality often prevented them from approaching Grindelwald. Ravenclaw was not very interesting according to Gellert. He already had his brain and Albus' brain, he didn’t want nor need more. Especially since it was the students at Rowena's house who were best able to dismantle his rhetorical processes and strange strategies. No, the ones Gellert was now supposed to approach were the Slytherin. Despite Albus' many warnings about this, he knew he would need followers as creative, resourceful and bold as the Slytherin. Not to mention that it was in this house that his ideology took root the best. This was a little unfortunate, since Gellert wanted nothing to do with the nobility of blood. But it was a significant resource which he couldn’t ignore. That was why one evening, completely ignoring Albus' worried thoughts, he had caught up with the boy named Malfoy before an Astronomy class.

Draco had seemed ecstatic to see him, like a dream come true. He still had on his face the air of indifference characteristic of the nobility, but Gellert had seen his eyes light up with a victorious glow, delighted that the famous Grindelwald had finally come to see him.

“**We walk together?** Gellert had proposed.”

And without waiting for the answer, he resumed walking, pretending not to see that Malfoy had dismissed his two gorillas with a quick wave of his hand. The two young men had wandered silently through the floors of Hogwarts until Malfoy could no longer hold on and he was the one who finally spoke.

“**What do you want from me?** He had asked Gellert.

**-I want to learn what you want from me. After all, you were the one who approached me on the train.**”

Malfoy had not answered immediately, obviously weighing his words skillfully.

“**I think we can help each other. Our objectives can be met.**”

Gellert had remembered the list that old Dumbledore had given them of Death Eaters, and he had obviously not forgotten that Lucius Malfoy was one of them. But he had found it strange that the latter had wanted to attempt a rapprochement with the one who would soon become his master's main enemy.

“**It was your daddy who asked you to make friends with me?** had asked Gellert.”

This remark had immediately made Malfoy blush and Gellert could see an outraged and sincere anger in his eyes.

“**Not at all! I'm able to think for myself!**”

And Gellert had been willing to believe it. Obviously this boy had no idea of the tacit power games between Voldemort and Grindelwald, and he probably thought he was doing the right thing by doing what he was doing.

“**What exactly do you want?**”

Gellert's question had left Malfoy thinking for a second, weighing his words. Then he checked that there was no one in the corridor before stopping suddenly and continuing with a barely whispered voice.

“**My father... My father doesn't want me to help yet. He's keeping me out of this and away from... you know who. But I want to do something! I'm old enough! I can do important things too! And if my father doesn't want me to help... the Dark Lord... he can't control what I do at Hogwarts. I can help them from here. You and You-Know-Who, you have common objectives. I can help you.**”

Gellert had to hold back with all his might to avoid letting a smile escape him. It was so beautiful, this gift that the chance of fate and miscommunication could offer. Now the most popular student of Slytherin had come to Gellert on a silver plate. Moreover, the irony of knowing that Draco would be convinced to serve Voldemort by joining his enemy had not escaped Gellert, who was ecstatic about it. At that moment, he had blessed the stereotype that all dark wizards were the same.

“**I'm looking for people,** Gellert said. Quickly.** And discreetly. People who can sympathize with my ideals.**

**-I know all the Slytherin! I can help you! I can put them at your command!**”

Gellert had smiled, and had resumed walking.

Later, he met Draco in secret. He knew that one day, the surprise effect of their impromptu alliance could be useful. Draco, who had seemed to him to be a boy relatively in control of his environment, proved to be surprisingly easy to master. It was obvious that he had a great need for recognition and attention, and Gellert was very good at making his interlocutor feel like the center of the world. Moreover, Draco seemed to really need to feel invested with something bigger, more important. And Gellert could also offer him that. And what Gellert gave him in attention and importance, Draco gave him back a hundredfold. He was involved in all kinds of schemes, ready to do anything to satisfy his "new friend". Draco put him in contact with the other Slytherin, teaching him intimate and essential information about the other students, indicating their weaknesses. Soon Gellert was able to form a circle of students, mixing Slytherin and Hufflepuff, who liked to meet in the evening, in abandoned rooms to remake the world of their dreams and words. Of course he had to choose his audience and speeches. But he had gathered Hufflepuff with an incredible thirst for justice and equity and Slytherin dreaming of the day when wizards would come out of the shadows.

His group was therefore eclectic and incongruous, but Gellert saw far ahead of that, and he already imagined in them the circle of lieutenants he would need once his studies were over. And that was obviously his priority. At least until Albus told him about the Deathly Hallows.

His absolute priority then became to meet himself.

* * *

* * *

Harry sighed deeply, both out of boringness and pain. His hand was bleeding heavily and he had to roll it up in his sleeve to prevent the red liquid from spilling on the parchment. He had been writing this sentence for more than an hour and it was always a little more in his mind and in his flesh.

I must not tell lies

Gellert, at his side, also wrote his own punishment. I must submit to authority. Or something like that. Harry, who observed from time to time through the window to see the red and gold silhouettes flying in the distance, above the Quidditch pitch, turned his attention to Gellert. He was often impressed by the young man's stoicism. Whether it was the tedious lectures, or the physical pain, nothing ever seemed to affect it. Yet today seemed to be different.

Harry squinted, but no, he wasn't wrong. Gellert seemed to be in a sorry state. He was sweating heavily and his cheeks were swollen by an obvious fever. He often rubbed his eyes and his shoulders were agitated by labored breathing.

Harry took a look at Umbridge, but she didn't seem to have noticed anything. She corrected copies in silence, without paying any attention to them. However, she was too close for Harry to be able to talk to Gellert without being heard. So he decided to tear off a tiny piece of his parchment, roll it into a compact ball and discreetly throw it on Gellert's table. The latter turned to Harry, who gave him an interrogating look. Gellert simply shrugged his shoulders, but he was not very convincing. He seemed to be about to faint. Finally, he put down his quill and started packing his things.

“**I have to go to the Hospital Wing,**" he told Umbridge, who raised his head towards him.

**-We raise our hands when we want to talk.**

**-I don't recognize your right to censor my word.**”

Gellert seemed to say it by reflex, without really thinking it. It was now obvious that the fever Harry suspected of being monumental may confuse his mind. Gellert simply kept shoveling his stuff into his bag, his hands shaking in a disturbing way.

“**Obviously, Umbridge whispered, you haven't learned your lesson. So I'm going to have to ask you to take your things out and continue this punishment that you obviously deserve.**"

Gellert did not listen. And the rest happened very quickly. He suddenly got up, throwing his chair away without worrying about it. He didn't even seem to notice it. He wavered a few steps, then suddenly collapsed.

Quickly, Harry jumped up and managed to catch Gellert before his head hit the ground. He brought him back against him and saw right away that something was really off. Gellert's eyes were rolled upwards and his body was agitated with nervous spasms, his muscles contracting erratically.

“**Gellert? Are you okay? Can you hear me?**”

Gellert didn't answer and Harry wasn't even sure he was really conscious yet. The spasms continued for several seconds that seemed minutes to Harry, and suddenly one of them, more violent than the others, painfully arched Gellert's body before, in a long and painful grumbling, he collapsed again, his eyes now closed.

“**Gellert, can you hear me?**”

A growl replied and, slowly, Gellert opened his eyes. As a precaution, and to give himself the impression of being useful, Harry touched his forehead. The fever must have gone down in the blink of an eye because Gellert was now frozen to the touch.

Umbridge, who had walked around her desk, leaned her toad face over Gellert. With her unbearable little girl's voice, she squealed:

“**Was that a vision? Was that a vision?!**”

Gellert didn't answer. He was obviously stunned and trying to get up as best he could . Faced with his silence, Umbridge grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, her insane eyes shining with apprehension and urgency.

“**What did you see? I demand you to tell me what you saw!**

**-Leave him alone! Harry interfered. Can't you see he has to go to the hospital wing?**”

Harry had to almost physically interfere, but finally Ombrage seemed to pull herself together.

“**Yes, take him there. But let me be clear, Mr. Grindelwald, you will have to answer questions. It is your duty as a citizen to share your visions with the Ministry.**”

Neither Gellert nor Harry replied. The first because he was obviously still dizzy, and the second because he was far too happy to leave Umbridge’s office an hour earlier than expected. So he helped Gellert to get up and supported him as he left the office to accompany him to the infirmary.

On the way, Harry couldn't help but wonder what vision Umbridge had talked about. In any case, whatever it was, it seemed pretty intense and Gellert was particularly dark and worried, as he let himself be dragged into the Hospital Wing.

* * *

* * *

The clock was displaying two o'clock in the morning when Albus decided to leave the Gryffindor Common Room to join the dark and icy corridors of the castle. Having been prefect for two years, and even head boy, he knew all the hidden passages, all the tricks to avoid the teachers' rounds, and the empty hours where the corridors were the safest. Thus, it is without difficulty that he slipped through the floors, but with a preoccupied mind. Harry had taught him earlier in the evening about the incident with Gellert. Albus did not need an explanation of the symptoms for him to immediately guess that it was a vision. He would obviously have wanted to rush to Gellert's bedside, but he had held back. He knew that if he did so, it would draw attention to the vision and it was something he wanted to avoid. He welcomed this precaution when he learned that Madam Pomfresh had diagnosed a panic attack. Obviously, he was not the only one working to cover up this story. It was for this reason that he had waited two hours in the morning before going to the infirmary.

He managed to do so without any troubles. After an informulated alohomora, he opened the door and took a look at the silent room. There were two other beds occupied besides Gellert's and, as a precaution, Albus cast a sleep spell on them before gently slipping into the doorway and closing the door behind him.

Without a sound, he approached Gellert and slipped into his bed.

“**It took you a long time, muttered his lover's sleepy voice.**

**-Sorry, I didn't want to draw any attention. But I'm here now.**”

He opened his arms and Gellert came to curl up against him. His most intense visions always left him exhausted and fragile, and Albus rocked him tenderly, gently stroking his back. Gellert would talk whenever he wanted to. And if he didn't want to share, Albus would never hold it against him.

The minutes ticked by slowly, calm and idle, in the silence of the night, accompanied by the slight snoring of the sleepers. Albus, on the other hand, had once again lost himself in the contemplation of the stars. The sky was clear and beautiful tonight and Albus took the opportunity to mentally review the sky charts he had studied earlier this week. It was his father who had given him this passion for observing the sky. Often, they would both sit on a tree stump at the bottom of their garden in Mould-on-the-Wold to look at the bright stars. Albus then would recite everything he had learned during the day, about the speed of light, the movement of the stars, the satellites of Jupiter. His father would often laugh, telling him to enjoy and stop thinking. Albus had never succeeded in doing so. And his father had no longer been there to ask him.

“**I saw myself.**”

Albus turned his full attention to Gellert. Slowly, he stroked his hair, an pulled a few locks of hair off his face. He did not rush him, however. Gellert would say what he wanted to say.

“**With the Deathly Hallows.**”

Albus had to refrain from moving in order not to disturb Gellert. However, he grabbed his chin between his thumb and index finger and encouraged him to look up at him.

“**That's wonderful, Gellert! We're going to have them all!**

**-Yes. Wonderful.**”

Gellert didn't seem as excited as he should have been. But Albus thought it must have been due to fatigue.

* * *

* * *

_ Umbridge’s office had disappeared to make way for another image. A vision._

_ The landscape was vast. Plains beaten by the wind. Nothing, except earth and sky. And the wind that struck both of them._

_ Gellert was standing up. He faced the earth, the sky and the wind. On his shoulders, a cloak. Around his neck, a stone. In his hand a wand. In his eyes, tears and death._

_ Then a scream. Unique. Who left Gellert's lips to shatter the sky, the earth and the wind._

_“**I RENOUNCE! YOU HEAR ME? I RENOUNCE!**”_

_“**I RENOUNCE THE HALLOWS.**”_

_“**I RENOUNCE DEATH!**”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> There's the new chapter and I hope you will enjoy it!  
Just in case, I remind you that, if you find any mistake, don't hesitate to point them out to me, I will gladly correct them if that can help me improve my english.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you had fun reading this. See you next chapter ! <3


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> First and foremost, the most important news, this chapter had a beta reader! So thanks to HowTheyRiseUp for making this reading more pleasant with her corrections and propositions! <3  
Hope you're gonna enjoy it!

**CHAPTER 6**

The days went by slowly after the incident that had occurred in Umbridge’s office. It had surprisingly few consequences. Pomfrey's firm help, as well as Dumbledore's more subtle one, had kept Umbridge away from any possibility of questioning Gellert about his so-called vision, which had been officially disguised as an anxiety attack. Of course, he had to answer a couple of questions, but it was impossible to get Gellert to confess anything he didn't want to say and, obviously, he had no desire to share that vision. Soon, then, the case was closed. At least officially.

Unofficially, all Hogwarts had heard about the incident and everyone was wondering what Grindelwald, the well-known prophet, had seen about the future. This had brought a new notoriety to Gellert. Many more people now had the courage to ignore the young man's dangerous aura to satisfy their curiosity. He was now enjoying a certain popularity and, at mealtimes, it was not uncommon to see him surrounded by a circle attentive to his every word.

This did not surprise Albus in any way. He knew that Gellert had always been social and that he attracted people like honey attracts bees. But it also meant that Albus was having more and more difficulty approaching his lover. The two young men had agreed that they would do just as well to to arrange times when they would appear in public far from each other, so as not to draw more attention than necessary to their rapid friendship. But Albus had the impression that these times were becoming more and more frequent. And they seemed to affect Albus more than Gellert. However, he tried not to let his jealousy run wild, and tried as best he could to ignore the young women who were probably more attracted to Gellert's golden hair than to his ideals.

But what exasperated Albus more was the strange disinterest that Gellert seemed to show as soon as Albus tried to raise the subject of the deathly hallows. Albus was convinced that the vision of his lover was responsible for this change in some way. He had tried to address the subject but what was true for Umbridge was also true for Albus. Gellert's visions belonged to him, he only mentioned them if he really wanted it. This therefore left Albus in the dark. He no longer knew whether or not to think about a way to infiltrate Nurmengard or whether he should simply abandon the idea. Whenever he raised the issue with Gellert, he would tell him that the order of priorities was first to settle in that era before thinking about the hallows, which was in total contradiction to what he had been saying all summer.

However, the idea of Hogwarts as a giant breeding ground for his future supporters seemed to pay off, and if Gellert was surprisingly gloomy, at least he was visibly less frustrated than during the stagnation that the two months' holiday had seemed to be for him.

Albus had therefore decided to try to develop his own hobbies. He did not get along particularly well with the other students. They were all cordial to each other, and Albus knew full well that some of them greatly appreciated him. But for his part, he had to admit that no one stood out from the crowd and the friendly discussions he might have had were more of a chore than a distraction. At that time, he missed Elphias very much. If Albus had ever had a friend in his life, it was him. They both started school with a terrible reputation - for different reasons - and, from the beginning, they had decided to face adversity together. Elphias had, throughout all these years, been his best ally, and this had not changed even when Albus had become the popular and beloved Head Boy.

It was during yet another evening in which Gellert had decided to spend time with his debate group rather than with him that Albus decided to write to Elphias. After the meal, he took refuge in a corner of the noisy common room, isolating himself from the heckling with a spell of silence. Taking out his belongings, his parchment and his Transfiguration textbook as a support, he prepared to write, but the sharpened tip of his quill remained suspended above the paper.

What could he write to him? There was a good chance that this Elphias to whom he was writing was no longer the boy who had been his friend. However, he was so eager to talk to him, to talk about light or anecdotal things that he could not discuss with Gellert. He wanted to find a semblance of the world that had been his and that was now forever inaccessible. Albus often wondered how Gellert could be so serene and prolific when he was so homesick that he came to the point where he was contemplating the idea of finding a way home to his time. This may have had something to do with the fact that, from the beginning, Gellert had never given the impression that he really belonged to his time. He was one of those who seemed foreign wherever they went and who only came to leave better. Albus often contemplated, in spite of himself, the idea that perhaps, in Gellert's eyes, he was similar to Godric's Hollow. A place of passage. Was there really something that could hold Gellert in one place? The history taught by Professor Binns seemed to indicate that there was no such thing.

Chasing away his dark thoughts with a sigh, Albus forced himself to refocus on the blank page and blacken it with his quill.

_Good evening my dearest friend,_

_ First of all, I _ _would like to apologize for the delay in writing to you, the length of which has been unforgi_ _vable. I must say that I've been relatively busy this past month, as I suppose you can imagine._

Albus stopped. He had a furious desire to indulge himself through these lines, to pour into them his anxieties, his nostalgia, his questions. After all, Elphias had done the same by sharing with him every detail of his travels this summer at the sunset of the 19th century. Perhaps he could allow himself to do the same. Just once.

So he took up his quill again and, driving away his doubts to a dark corner of his mind, continued writing the letter.

_ Indeed, a lot has happened since the last time we wrote to each other. At least, since the last time I wrote to you. I suspect that from your point of view, things must be very different. But I know you are smart enough to understand the sensitivity of the situation, so I hope you will forgive me for the familiarity with which I am speaking to you, as if the end of our Fifth Year had only taken place two months earlier._

_ Hogwarts without you seems to me to be distressingly sad. I must say that I sorely miss the simple afternoons by the lake, listening to you talk Quidditch or lecturing you about your lack of rigour in your homework. But it's not the only thing I miss. My mother's letters worrying about whether I am _ _dressed warmly enough _ _for the winter, the books sent by Bathilda to make sure my library is not too miserable, my sister's flower wreaths that she could send us even in the heart of the winter... _ _I’ve even _ _ending up missing the constant fights with my brother._

He had to stop writing at that moment for a few seconds. Before he’d put it down on paper, he hadn't realize how sad he was. Gellert was there, so he’d categorically refused to experience any negative feelings. How could he do so as he advanced on a glorious path, hand in hand with the other part of his soul that had been incomplete until then?! He had no right to complain for even a second about everything he had lost for it. But then why did he feel this weight that weighed a little more on his chest as he read what he would never have again...

He may have been with the love of his life, but he had never felt so alone. Alone in his gloom and his still-too-sharp sorrows. But he couldn't discuss it with Gellert. How could he understand the worried chiaroscuro of Albus’ soul, he who was only pure light? How could he welcome the suffering of Albus who had just lost his family, he who seemed to come from nothing and no one? Albus had always felt alone, without being bothered by it. But today, that very evening, when Gellert was surrounded by an unknown crowd of converted souls, he was alone in the midst of a noisy and oppressive multitude.

He knew, at heart, that this letter could never be sent. The risk was too great that he would let something slip that would indicate to Elphias the reality of his situation. The old headmaster had told them that he was keeping the condition of the photo a secret, but neither Albus nor Gellert knew very well what it meant. Both had agreed that it was better to stay away from all those who had, consciously or unconsciously, keys to the truth.

But, to return to the present situation, even if Albus knew perfectly well that his letter would remain unaddressed, writing it was vital to him. However, as he progressed, his eyes began to sting more and more and he now had to rub them more and more often with a sharp gesture of his arm.

_Hogwarts seems very strange to me. The corridors are still the same, but they are populated by new faces. The atmosphere there has also changed so much, Elphias, that you would not recognize our good old castle._

_ Where we saw the wild and sweet lightness of innocence filled with certainties for the future, I see only a cold climate of doubt and tension. Perhaps it is related to the presence this year of an unbearable woman in these places who is creating a semi-open conflict against the rest of the teaching staff. Or perhaps it is because the outside world now poses a dark and oppressive threat to the hearts of students. But perhaps this has more to do with the fact that today Hogwarts is only lit by sunlight and no longer by the light of our childhood. Hogwarts is now for me like a familiar face that cannot be superimposed on the benign and happy memories that I attach to it._

From the corner of his eye, Albus noticed familiar head of golden hair and quickly and discreetly tucked his letter in his bag while Gellert looked for him for a few moments in the common room. Albus had time to put away his textbook and straightened up when his lover finally reached him.

“**Look at what I just learned!**”

Gellert seemed particularly excited and he stuffed what seemed to be the front page of a newspaper into Albus' hands.

“**What is it?**”

“**It’s from a friend of mine. Ice Evarst, a Hufflepuff. Her mother works at the Daily Prophet. She always has the news in advance. What you have in your hands is tomorrow's front page!**”

Albus forced himself not to comment on the somewhat excessive term "friend" and simply read the article he had in his hands. Once he had finished, he had to admit that he had no idea why Gellert was so enthusiastic.

“**High Inquisitor? It looks awful. She already doesn't like you, things won't get better when she gets more power.**”

"**It's not about me. It's about Hogwarts, and our plans! This configuration is perfect for us!**”

"**What do you mean?**”

"**It will be so easy for me to make Umbridge a tyrannical figure, once she has all the powers. And there's nothing like a tyrant to unite a resistance! Wizards are so used to oppression by Muggles that they no longer realize it. It takes a burst of violence, a sudden and suffocating constraint to wake them up. And Umbridge as Inquisitor could be that burst of violence.**”

"**But it's obvious she's not going to stop there. The new position of Inquisitor is proof that she is aiming much higher…**"

"**And I'm counting on it! Can you imagine? A Hogwarts run by Umbridge. What a godsend it would be!**”

"**I have trouble visualizing it and rejoicing in it.**”

"**You'll see when we get there. I even bet that as of tomorrow, hostilities will start smouldering in secret. If they're Gryffindors, you have to find out Albus. They love you more than me.**”

And Albus didn't have to wait long or make much effort before the opportunity presented itself.

* * *

* * *

The two weeks after Umbridge’s appointment were unbearable for Harry. Every time they met, Umbridge seemed to find a new way to provoke him and Harry no longer saw the end of his detentions. And it wasn’t as if that was the only concern he had to deal with. Quidditch occupied most of his free time, so he had fallen behind in his homework. This was a little bit the case for everyone, and it was not uncommon to see the Fifth Years, dark circles under their eyes, staying in the common room until midnight or one o'clock in the morning, writing as best they could forty-five centimeters of parchment on the moonstone here, forty-five more centimeters on the disappearance spells there. He felt that he would never see the end of it and as soon as one assignment ended in extremis before the deadline, two more appeared behind it and were added to the to-do list.

And Quidditch, which had always had a soothing and entertaining role in Harry's schooling, had recently taken on a much darker hue. The few training sessions that his many detentions allowed him to attend, he had to spend them watching Ron humiliate himself on his broom. He knew that his best friend had a natural talent. But the anguish of being observed made him woozy and clumsy— so much so that Angelina Johnson spent half her time yelling at him for instructions that were supposed to be clear.

Even the Order was a source of anguish recently. Sirius had contacted them in early September, but the silent treatment had been the order of the day. Harry knew he had offended Sirius by telling him not to come to see him, at the risk of causing himself immeasurable trouble. Sirius, who was probably taking his imprisonment very badly, had left them in the middle of a fight, and Harry was terrified that his godfather would finally decide to ignore his requests and come to Hogsmeade no matter what. But he knew he had to trust him and the other members of the Order to handle their own discretion and affairs. However, trust and serenity were no longer things that came easily to Harry recently.

But it was neither Quidditch, nor the Order, nor even Umbridge that occupied Harry's mind the most for the time. Rather, it was Hermione's proposal to him, which he had had the foolishness to accept. It was only a few days earlier that Hermione had first spoken of her stupid idea of making him a professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, in the absence of any real courses offered at Hogwarts. This whole thing seemed absurd to him at first. But as the days passed, he had found himself imagining what spells he could teach and what kind of courses he could give. So when Hermione finally asked him the question, he’d said yes. Like an idiot. He now began to regret it as the date of the first Hogsmeade trip approached.

It was becoming more and more common for him to stay awake at night, eyes wide open in the dark, wondering if he would be up to the task. He wasn't that good after all. He had never been a very good student, just getting up to average. Hermione would be a much more suitable teacher. Moreover, wasn't she the one who wrote half of his homework for Defence Against the Dark Arts? Wasn't she also the one who could perform any new spell three times faster than Ron or him? But Hermione seemed convinced that he and he alone could do the job. He had explained to her that it was by no means talent that kept him alive against Voldemort, but she had not wanted to hear it. Apparently, it was his experience that made him the perfect person.

That night, Harry had turned and turned over in his bed without falling asleep. His mind was plagued by all the reasons for not feeling legitimate in a professorial position. After all, he only survived because he had always had help. Or because the chance had worked in his favour. Only his promptness had allowed him to win, much more than his talents or knowledge. And then, he had never defeated Voldemort, at least not consciously, so how was he supposed to teach others how to do it? It was this thought that triggered his decision. He had never defeated the Dark Lord before. But someone else had defeated the "Voldemort" of his time. He had to ask him!

It took Harry three days to gather enough courage to go talk to Albus, the lonely and silent figure who often haunted the Gryffindor common room in the evening. It was one of those evenings that Harry decided himself. Until now he had been absorbed in his homework for Snape, while Ron and Hermione, having already finished it, had gone to bed an hour earlier. Apart from Albus, near the window, and Harry scratching paper in front of the fireplace, the common room was deserted, if one omitted a First Year, asleep on one of the upholstered chairs.

Harry hesitated for a moment. But he had written for Snape everything he had been able to find, and he finally decided to fold up his scroll to face another of his concerns.

“**Uh… Hi, Albus.**”

Albus, who until now had been immersed in the contemplation of the stars, turned to Harry as he had just approached. He frowned, and Harry guessed that his approach had been a little clumsy.

“**Hi,**” he finally gave up, detailing the face of the one who had called him.

"**Have you finished the assignment for Snape?**”

Harry slapped himself mentally. He must have looked like an idiot, standing like that in front of Albus, asking him stupid questions.

“**Yes.**”

"**Ah, cool… cool.**”

There was a long moment of extremely embarrassed silence, during which Harry realized that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say. It was finally Albus who flew to his rescue.

“**You haven’t?**”

"**What? Ah, the assignment! Uh, no, I’m having a little trouble.**”

"**I can lend you a book I found useful on the subject, if you want.**”

"**Ah, thank you. That's nice of you.**”

Again, silence settled, but this time Harry took his courage with both hands and sat on the chair facing Albus.

“**I had something to tell you.**”

"**Yes, that's what I understand…**"

"**I... I don't know if Hermione told you about it but... we decided to do something about Umbridge’s classes. Well, more about the absence of classes.**”

"**What have you decided to do?**”

"**Actually, it's more Hermione's idea, but... She thought we could organize ourselves into a study group. To learn how to really defend ourselves against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.**”

"**In other words, do exactly what the Minister does not want you to do.**”

"**That's it. But there will be no real teachers involved. It'll only be between us.**”

"**And what do I have to do with it?**”

"**Well, Hermione asked me to be the teacher. Since I've already met Voldemort and all that….**"

"**It seems to me to be the most logical choice indeed.**”

"**Yes, that makes sense. But I was thinking, maybe you could... you could help me a little, you know.**”

“**Me?**" asked Albus, seemingly sincerely. “**Why?**”

"**Well, first of all, you're the only wizard Voldemort ever feared. Besides, you're very good at magic. We can see it in class. You do things with your wand that I never thought possible. Not to mention the past... well, your future showed us that you were an excellent teacher.**”

Harry hesitated a little. There was one last reason why he wanted Albus to help him so much, but he didn't know if he should say it or not. However, the inquisitive silence of his counterpart told him that he was not fooled in any way, and Harry had to finish his argument.

“**And also... we're in this together, you and I. The fact that Dumbledore... I mean the headmaster publicly supported me last year... makes our names associated for the better but especially for the worse. Until now, I have never really been alone, there was always the authority figure of Dumbledore behind me and...**”

He remained silent, not knowing how to finish. But Albus seemed to understand what he was trying to say, and he finished the sentence.

“**And you'd be reassured if I came to be the authority behind you.**”

"**Yeah, something like that.**”

Harry looked down. It had been silly of him to venture into that action. The Albus in front of him was in no way the Dumbledore he knew. He shouldn't have come to him for help, there was no reason for him to accept.

“**I agree.**”

Harry looked up immediately, having trouble believing what he had just heard.

“**For real?**”

"**Yes. Why are you so surprised?**"

"**I don't know... You just didn't seem like the type to participate in a study group, that's all.**”

“**I can be that kind of person, if I want to. But on one condition.**”

“**I'm listening.**”

"**I'd be happy to help you, but that's all. It's not for me to teach them anything. Just to advise you.**”

"**Okay, whatever you want. But... can I ask you why?**”

"**Why do I want you to give them lessons?**”

“**Yes.**"

"**Because Hermione is right,**” admitted Albus finally after a moment of reflection. “**You're the only one who faced Voldemort. You're the only one who can lead the way.**”

Harry had the clear impression that this was not the only reason Albus had accepted, but he did not intend to go back to the topic more than necessary.

That night, he slept wonderfully well. He had finished his homework for Snape with the help of Albus, his detention with Umbridge would soon come to an end, and he would not be alone in front of the group Hermione had invited to teach them Defense. Things might finally get better at Hogwarts....

* * *

* * *

“**Albus, I'm glad to see you, although I suppose the subject of your visit will be less cheerful.**”

Albus had just entered the headmaster’s office and was greeted without any surprise by the old man.

“**You know why I'm here?**" he asked as he went to sit in the wooden armchair in front of the desk.

“**It seems pretty obvious. The field trip for Hogsmeade is, after all, only a few days away.**”

"**Yes. I learned from Professor McGonagall that the authorization my mother signed for me in 1894 no longer has any authority today. That it must be signed by my guardian's hand. And since it's you, in the eyes of the law, I was wondering what the situation was.**”

The old man looked at Albus for a long time and for a brief moment he had the impression that he was deploying his abilities in Legilimency. But Albus did not flinch and waited obediently for the answer.

“**I guess if I ask you what you plan to do at Hogsmeade, you'll feel compelled to answer me with a lie.**”

“**I believe so, yes.**”

A heavy rain fell outside, heralding early autumn with beating and icy winds. But the sound of the storm against the closed window did not shake the two still figures who were looking at each other.

“**Gellert must not go there.**”

"**Why is that?**”

“**Because the whole world knows he's at Hogwarts. And Hogsmeade is an open area.**”

"**Are you afraid that his followers will find him there?**”

"**I'm afraid that his followers will find him there, but I'm even more afraid that people much less under his spell will try to find him there. You may think it was just a trick on my part, but I was most sincere when I told you that you were not safe anywhere but Hogwarts.**”

Albus had expected a similar answer. He had discussed it with Gellert and both had agreed that it was much more important for him to go to Hogsmeade for Potter's first group meeting than for Gellert to go there.

“**But I suppose this authorization is important enough for you to have an agreement to offer me.**”

Once again, the old headmaster seemed to be one step ahead of them, which was frustrating. Albus was willing to bet that he already knew what he was about to say.

“**Gellert is willing to promise not to go. He already has a detention with Professor Sprout for the assignment he refused to do, he will stay at the castle. But there's no reason why I myself shouldn't be allowed to go to Hogsmeade. You can't stop me from going.**”

"**In theory, I can, my young friend. I may not sign this authorization. You could counterfeit it, that's for sure, but you suspect that it would be useless in the face of professors who will be informed of my decision on this case.**”

Albus was silent. Something told him that the discussion was not over.

“**However,**" added the old headmaster, "**I have no desire to see you confined within this castle. I want to see you go out with your classmates and live your extra years at Hogwarts in the most satisfying and complete way possible.**”

"**So it’s a yes?**”

"**Not exactly.**”

"**Is it a yes with one condition?**”

"**It's a yes with a warning.**”

A few seconds went by before Dumbledore spoke again in a grave and extremely serious tone that enjoined Albus to the most complete attention.

“**The outside world is not a welcoming place, neither for you nor for Gellert. If you decide to leave the castle grounds, the only place I can protect you, you risk being confronted with nothing but the truth. And I'm afraid, for you, it is the most dangerous and painful of your enemies. If you go out of Hogwarts, you will come back to it as a different person. And I hope you will be able to move forward, even if I am far from certain.**”

* * *

* * *

“**She will be waiting for you at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.**”

The day looked good at the beginning of October, and the students, still having lunch, only had their thoughts and mouths full of their plans for Hogsmeade. Draco and Gellert, for their part, had isolated themselves behind the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, near the entrance, to review their objective one last time.

“**Is that why you asked me for a hair from Pansy?**”

"**Yes. I sent it to her for her Polyjuice. Are you sure the real Pansy won't show up at Hogsmeade?**”

"**Yes. I asked her, and Crabbe and Goyle to stay at Hogwarts. They won't bother me.**”

"**All the better. This mission is very important.**”

"**You can trust me!**” exclaimed Draco with the passion of those who fear not to be believed. “**I'm going to make it! I'll do what needs to be done.**”

Gellert approached Draco a little closer, until he was intruding on his personal space, then placed both hands on the young man's shoulders.

“**I don't doubt you for a moment,**" he breathed in a soft, caressing voice.

Draco was ecstatic. Finally, he could take part in something important. Gellert, in one month, seemed to have more trust in him than his father in fifteen years. The dark wizard, at least, didn't treat him like an incompetent child.

Draco was one of the first to appear before Filch to show him his exit permit. He wanted to arrive early at the meeting place. There was no way he was going to disappoint Grindelwald because of a stupid delay. In addition, he knew that many students would want to go to the tea shop, and he wanted to be there early enough to book the most isolated and discreet table.

He went down the hill towards the village, getting lost in his thoughts and contemplation. The landscape was still green and was just beginning to stain itself, in places, with the red and gold colors characteristic of the emerging autumn. The wind was cold, but the sky was clear and a bright sun was shining on these Scottish lands. Draco tightened his green and silver scarf around his neck and, with his hands in his pockets, he finally reached the entrance to the small wizard village, well before his other Hogwarts classmates.

The place was more populated than he thought. Normally, the village remained relatively deserted during the school year and, during Hogsmeade weekends, only the large number of students really made this place alive and teeming. But now, many passers-by walked the pavement, going from one building to another or staying in the middle of the streets, despite the bitter wind. Folding the sides of his coat around him, he pushed his head into his shoulders and kept moving forward, entering the perpendicular and steep alleys, in case someone followed him. Deep down, Draco knew that it was futile paranoia to do so, but he was on a mission and it made him so ecstatic that he willingly worked hard to prove his worth.

Thus, after a few roundabout ways, he finally arrived at the tea shop in question. It was half occupied with a few regular customers, but Draco knew that, in just a few minutes, the tiny room held by Puddifoot would be overcrowded by the various couples from Hogwarts.

“**What can I do for you, kiddo?**”

Draco restrained the sarcastic remark that burned his lips. He was certainly no kiddo, but this was not the time to attract attention to him.

“**I want a table. That one over there.**”

He pointed his finger at a tiny table, half hidden behind a huge pot of white and pink oriental lilies. It was almost impossible to see it from the center of the room and it was the perfect place for a discreet appointment.

“**Ah, I'm sorry, but that table has already been booked.**”

"**That one in particular?**”

"**They specifically requested a discreet table.**”

Draco took a large number of Galleons out of his pocket and presented them to Puddifoot.

“**I'm sure you can find them another table.**”

The manager seemed to hesitate for a moment, but finally smiled kindly at the boy and took the money.

“**Of course, son. Please make yourself comfortable.**”

Draco slipped between the tables that filled this cramped space. Once seated, he took a brief look around. The other customers were chatting in a low voice without paying any attention to him. The clock above the door indicated 1 o’clock p.m. and Draco's appointment could arrive any second. He quickly got rid of Puddifoot by ordering the first tea offered, and waited in silence, forcing himself in vain not to get too agitated in his seat.

“**Nervous, aren’t you?**” asked Puddifoot, putting the tea in front of him. “**First date?**”

"**Something like that,**” Draco grunted between his teeth.

His angry look must have been enough to make the manager understand that he had no desire to talk and Puddifoot left to serve more friendly customers.

It was only almost an hour later that he saw the woman he had been waiting for. Only his fear of failure had prevented him from leaving the shop earlier, but he was forced to realize that the newcomer did not seem embarrassed at all to have made him wait for an hour. A little clumsy and anxious, he stood up and waved his hand.

“**Pansy, here.**”

The one who had borrowed the features of the Slytherin girl squinted when she saw him and approached a feline and dangerous approach that was far from Pansy's. The girl reached Draco and he could see a cold, distant expression on her face.

“**It is me,**" he said to try to appear composed and to impose himself as an ally. “**Gellert sent me as his contact.**”

Pansy smirked with a frightening smile and bent over to kiss his cheek, like an enthusiastic date would do. But when she had her lips a few centimeters from his ear, she whispered a icy murmur:

“**I could be the contact. Or I could be a Ministry agent who intercepted our plans and is setting a trap for you.**”

She kissed him slightly on the cheek before continuing:

“**The next time you use my master's name so stupidly....**”

She didn't need to finish. Draco felt something sharp sticking into his ribs and understood that it was the woman's wand. He said nothing and just swallowed. This must have convinced the woman that the message had passed and she made her wand disappear in the folds of her dress before sitting gracefully at the table, as if nothing had happened.

“**I have a gift for you, Draco.**”

She gave him a present above her table, in a parallelepipedal shape, about thirty centimeters long, carefully wrapped in a grey fabric. Draco took it with all the precautions in the world, and slipped it into the back of his coat. He still had to get him into the castle, but he had confidence that he could escape Filch's surveillance, which seemed cursory when it comes to him.

“**Any news from your best friend?**”

"**Yes,**" Draco said, remembering what Gellert had asked him. “**Unfortunately, he lost his lucky necklace. He was wondering if you didn't know where it could be.**”

"**His necklace?**” asked the fake Pansy, this time really surprised. “**But he hasn't had it for a long time.**”

"**He had found it. But he lost it again. He says he can't be far away. But that he absolutely must find it. He was hoping for your help.**”

"**Of course. Make sure you tell him he'll get it. I'll turn the whole house upside down if I have to, but we'll find his lucky charm. Anything else?**”

"**Yes. He said he missed all of you. And that he was looking forward to reconnecting with you.**”

"**It would be a pleasure. Tell him that he will always have a place of honour at our table and that we are waiting for him for dinner with great anticipation.**”

Draco wanted to answer something else, but the movement near the entrance caught his attention. Indeed, the door had just opened, letting in an icy gust and the silhouette of an old man wrapped up to his eyes.

“**Excuse me,**" he said in his furry voice. “**I must have the wrong place.**”

And he came out just as quickly. Draco thought that this must be some kind of tacit signal because, immediately, Pansy got up all of a sudden.

“**I have to go,**" she said. “**But I'll see you soon. In the meantime, take that.**”

And she handed him a small package roughly wrapped in a rough, tapered cloth. Draco frowned. Gellert had only told him about one item to bring into Hogwarts.

“**It's for you,**" added the fake Pansy in front of his incredulous face. “**From us.**”

"**For me?**”

But the woman did not answer and quickly and discreetly snuck between the tables to leave. Draco sat a little longer, for his part. Gellert had told him that if his contact ended the appointment earlier than expected, he would have to wait at least fifteen minutes before leaving. So he sat there, fiddling with the package he had just received. He only wanted to open it, but he knew that it might not be a good idea to do it here. So he forced himself to wait for it, but he didn't waste a second, once the safety time limit had been respected, to get out of the tearoom, which had become oppressive for him.

Once in the alley, he went a little deeper into a recess and, invisible to everyone, he took the package out of his pocket and opened it.

Inside, he found only two items. The first was a chain, at the end of which a silver pendant shone, representing a line and a circle in a triangle. The second was a crumpled piece of parchment that Draco unfolded to be able to decipher the four scrawled words in coarse writing. _Welcome to the Revolution__._

* * *

* * *

“**Well… erm… well, you know why you’re here. Erm… well, Harry here had the idea — I mean I had the idea that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts.**”

"**Hear, hear.**”

"**Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands. And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells…**”

"**You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?**”

"**Of course I do. But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because... because... Because Lord Voldemort’s back.**”

Albus, sitting in his chair, felt deeply uncomfortable. First, he did not share the panic fear that most of the group felt hearing the name of Voldemort, so he found the hiccups of anxiety and surprise particularly ridiculous. Secondly, he felt very strongly that he was the focus of attention, at least as much as Harry was. The students gathered around them and glanced at him from the corner of their eyes without daring to do so openly, and even the bartender, busy cleaning the glasses, stared at him ferociously. As much as he could understand the surprise, greed, apprehension and even suspicion coming from those around him, he had more difficulty understanding the cold anger that shone in the eyes of the old bearded man with a familiar face. Surely his alter-ego had had to alienate this stranger who was now redirecting his anger at Albus.

The discussion continued around him, but he didn't really pay much attention to it. It was about Voldemort and whether or not Harry had lied. Albus knew that they were on sufficiently conquered ground that there was no reason for it to get out of hand, so he let his thoughts wander for a moment.

The bar was seedy and moldy, made dark by the lack of windows and openings. The wood, warped by humidity, creaked randomly according to the rhythm of the breeze that infiltrated through the poorly caulked gaps. The floor was made of stone, but it was so covered with all kinds of dirt that it seemed to be made of clay. There were only a few clients outside of this large group of students. A woman, veiled from head to toe, whose general body shape only was discernible, two men in hoods and another with a face surrounded by grey bandages formed the entire clientele. Nothing that inspired confidence anyway. Albus had praised Hermione's presence of mind for having them meet in a discreet place, but he had to admit that a little spotting beforehand would not have hurt them. As far as he knew, any of these four people could at any time sell their identities to Umbridge or anyone else.

However, the one who attracted Albus' attention the most was the bartender. He was sure that this face was familiar to him. And given the old man's advanced age, it was quite possible that they had met at Hogwarts or elsewhere a century earlier. Yet Albus couldn't remember a single person who hated him like that at Hogwarts. He had been an extremely popular Head Boy.

“**I don’t want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that’s what you’re here for, you might as well clear out.**”

He turned his attention back to Harry whose voice had resonated in the room. Albus was beginning to find these mood swings quite strange, which seemed to constantly bring Harry to the brink of fury. Certainly, the boy was a teenager, all the more traumatized by the violent death he had witnessed, but Albus couldn’t help but wonder if there was not another reason behind this. For a moment he contemplated the idea of using his Legilimency on the boy, but he didn't know the extent of his target's Occlumency skills, so he gave it up. But he noted it in a corner of his head. All this was definitely something very strange.

“**Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?**”

“**Yeah.**"

"**A corporeal Patronus?**”

AIbus raised an eyebrow. A Corporeal Patronus was nothing so profoundly impossible, but he still had to note that he did not know any of his Hogwarts comrades who had been able to do so before their Seventh Year.

“**And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore’s office? That’s what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…**”

"**Er… yeah, I did, yeah.**”

"**And in our first year he saved the Sorcerous Stone…**”

“**Sorcerer’s.**"

"**Yes, that, from You-Know-Who.**”

"**And that’s not to mention all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year, getting pas dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things…**”

This time, Albus was truly impressed. Harry had not, however, appeared to him as a bright boy. He seemed mediocre in class, barely average, and more interested in Quidditch than in the mysteries of magic. But maybe Albus was wrong and he was actually dealing with a much more interesting boy than he initially thought.

The discussion then went a little bit astray as to where the future meetings would take place. The library and abandoned classrooms had been mentioned, but nothing that seemed to meet their needs. Albus thought for a moment about the Room of Requirement. But first he had to check that it still existed and was still accessible to those in need. And even then, he wasn't sure he wanted to share this knowledge with them. Finally, the meeting ended and Hermione passed them a piece of parchment where they could sign their names. Albus thought the idea was absolutely stupid. The less evidence there was of who was in this group, the better they would be. But as soon as he had the paper in his hands, he understood. The piece of parchment pulsed with magic, and Albus was willing to bet that Hermione had cursed it. Probably an oath preventing them from disclosing any information. Once he discovered this, it was child's play for him to cast an nonverbal spell on his quill so that it would sign it without engaging him in any way. He had no desire to betray the group, but, as a matter of principle, he did not like to sign contracts of which he knew neither the ins nor outs.

Finally, the meeting ended and everyone left on their own way. Harry and Hermione seemed satisfied with the way everything had gone while they were picking up their things. Albus, on the other hand, always had something in his mind that was bothering him as he went out to join the autumn wind. It was only halfway to Hogwarts when he put his finger on what it was.

“**I’ve been thinking about it, do you know who the owner of The Hog’s Head is? He looks familiar.**”

"**Yes, he did!**” exclaimed Harry, who also seemed to remember it. “**But there's no way of knowing who exactly.**”

"**I don't know who he is,**" Ron replied, chewing a piece of toast he had saved from the mealtime, "**but don't you think he looks like the old Dumbledore?... Well, not you, Albus... But the other one.**”

But Albus was already not listening. Of course! How could he have been such an idiot? Those eyes, that face, that crabby look. It was Aberforth! It was his brother!!!

Without an explanation, Albus rushed in the opposite direction, returning to the village. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. His brother... his brother was right there. Ignoring his short breath and his stitch, he rushed down the hill to Hogsmeade and rushed into the small isolated alleys that led to the Hog’s Head. He needed to see him so much, to talk to him. He had nothing to say to him, but he felt that this nothing was the most important thing in the world. How could he have been stupid enough to not recognize him?

He rushed into the Hog’s Head, but found no one, except the veiled woman at the back of the room.

“**Aberforth?**”

No answer. Catching his breath, Albus stepped forward to the counter and saw a back door that must have led to the back shop. He used it without even caring if he had the right to do so. He then arrived in a living room, barely more presentable than the public room. Furniture and supplies were shaky and shabby, the curtains moth-eaten, and an empty, cold chimney with missing stones occupied most of the space.

Albus was stunned the second he entered this room. Slowly, very slowly, he approached the fireplace mantle, and examined the portrait hanging on it, the only object tenderly cared for in this dingy living room. Ariana's portrait. His little sister.

“**How dare you stand in front of her?**”

It was the voice, made old and worn out by time but charged with a burning ferocity, of his little brother, Aberfoth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, it's mean of me to finish like this but I promise I'm not doing it on prupose. It's just that if I had continue this scene, it would be a chapter far too long so I HAD to split it in half. Don't hate me, please...


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta reader : HowDoTheyRiseUp

CHAPTER 7 :

“**How dare you stand in front of her?**”

Albus turned around. He had obviously recognized the accent and inflections of that voice, but he needed to see it with his own eyes. When he turned around, he looked at the crumpled old face in front of him. A puffy beard, worn skin, a fierce anger, all this distorted the old man's features, but sometimes, in the blue glow of the gaze, in the nervous tics of the facial muscles, in the curvature of the mouth, he managed to catch a glimpse of his little brother's reflection.

“**Aberforth…**”

Albus repeated that name more for himself than for his brother. As if pronouncing those syllables made the situation more real.

“**Get away! Seeing you can only hurt her!!**”

Albus heard this injunction without understanding it, lost as he was in contemplation of what was before his eyes. He had so much to say to his brother, so much to understand. And if he relied on his memory, which he considered infallible, he was almost certain that in his whole life he had never been so happy to see his brother. At last, an ally in this dark and strange world, at last a remnant of his home.

“**Aberforth, I… I’m so h…**”

“**Get out of the way!**”

Albus didn't know what his brother’s problem was, but surely it could wait. Whatever the story of this painting, and the reason for his brother's obvious anger, surely their petty squabbles could wait. What was at stake was far more important than any possible fraternal dispute.

“**I've been trying to reach you, but I wasn't sure if you were…**”

“**I TOLD YOU TO GET OUT OF HER SIGHT!**”

With these words, the old man, with a liveliness that his age concealed well, grabbed Albus by the elbow and dragged him away from the painting. Albus followed without resistance. What did it matter whether this discussion took place in the living room or in the kitchen? If his brother felt more comfortable elsewhere, then so be it. However, Aberforth's grip on the young man's arm was beginning to hurt, and Albus even stumbled a few steps because of the sharpness and the violence of his brother’s gestures. Finally, they both arrived in a tiny kitchen. The room was dirty from floor to ceiling, with several poorly washed dishes in the sink, and a tiny window that was so gray from the dirt that it barely let the sun's rays in. But Albus couldn’t care less about the state of the room. Aberforth had just let go of him, and the young man was at last able to massage his elbow to try to dissipate the pain of the bruise he guessed was coming.

“**You've got a strong grip.**”

It could have sounded like a reproach, but Albus was too preoccupied to really put any weight in his reply. Aberforth didn't answer, turning his back on Albus to do God knows what futile task in this overloaded kitchen. Albus hesitated for a moment, stuck in the doorway, before deciding to step forward and sit down on one of the wobbly stools. Obviously, age had not made his brother any friendlier or more social. Aberforth had always been of a surly temperament, and even as a young man his greatest concern seemed to have been showing his elder brother his perpetual disapproval. Albus couldn't blame him. Surely it must have been hard being his brother. After all, Aberforth had arrived at a Hogwarts which was singing Albus' praises, and he had never been able to live up to his family name. But their enmity dated back even earlier than that, even though Hogwarts had degraded everything between them. Surely the fact that Albus used his great intellect to get the parents on his side, and that he had been excused from Muggle primary school when Aberforth had been forced to go, had probably done nothing to help their relationship. But Albus knew that this disaffection was relatively superficial. If one day Aberforth found himself in danger, Albus would do everything in his power to help him, and he liked to believe that the reverse was also true.

“**What's the problem with this portrait?**”

Albus had much more important things to discuss, but he suspected that he had to indulge Aberforth a bit if he wanted to achieve his own ends. However, his brother didn't seem to be in a talkative mood and he seemed to prefer to take on the titanic task of washing dishes rather than face Albus. So he stayed there for a long time, not looking at Albus, running water over cracked glasses. Albus, behind him, was letting the seconds go by, trying to find an angle to make his brother talk. Clearly the bond had grown worse over time.

“**You lied.**”

Albus looked up to stare at the back of Aberforth who had just spoken.

"**What do you mean?**”

“**Don't play your mind games with me. We both know what I'm talking about. You lied. About _him_.**”

Albus sat up on his stool, making it squeak by doing so. Of course Aberforth knew about everything. He had been a privileged witness of his friendship with Gellert, he wasn't going to believe for a second the story of a quick and unexpected meeting two years earlier. The young man bit his lips, not knowing what to say. He had no idea what his alter-ego had said on the topic, and he didn't want to spoil a well-worn lie. But he suspected that his brother, however clumsy and ignorant he was, would not be fooled anyway, so he resolved to do what he wasn't used to, tell the truth.

“**It was the only way.**”

“**The only way what? That _he_ could get by without being bothered?**”

“**Yes.**”

The fury and contempt were clearly audible in Aberforth's voice whenever he referred to Gellert. Moreover, he did not even pronounce his name, just spitting out his pronoun as if it were a particularly burning poison. Albus, on the other hand, forced himself not to take it too personally. Aberforth, though he would never admit it, had always been jealous of Gellert and their quarrel was nothing new, each one fighting for Albus' attention.

“**You're not 15, are you?**”

“**No, I just turned 18.**”

“**And it's easy for you, I guess.**”

“**What's easy?**”

“**Lying. To everyone. You have so much experience at it.**”

“**It was necessary. There was no other option.**”

“**Yes. There's always another possibility. Telling the truth. But strangely, no matter how genius you are, you never thought to try that.**”

Albus let that gratuitous remark slip by, he wasn't there to argue. On the contrary.

“**You haven't said anything to anyone, Aberforth. You could've bring the truth out into the open, but you didn't say anything. Even though you hate Gellert, you didn't hurt him the way you could have.**”

“**I didn't do it for _him_! It's just so you don't end up in Azkaban like our father. But if it had been just him, I would've reported him that very second.**”

Albus only smiled calmly, which Aberforth, with his back to him, could not see. He was right. Despite all his great speeches, Aberforth was still willing to do whatever was necessary to help him.

“**And now, what are your plans? Conquer the world?**”

“**No, of course not.**”

Or maybe a little, but Albus wasn't ready to admit it to himself, let alone to his brother.

“**But I guess you're gonna stick by him, right. Like the good doggy you are to him.**”

“**We are friends, Aberforth. I know you don't like him, but he's willing to do a lot for me.**”

“**YOU MEAN NOTHING TO HIM!**”

Aberforth had just shouted suddenly, shattering the glass in his hand with too strong a grip and turning around to glare at Albus.

“**Look, Aberforth, you don't know anything about…**”

“**No, you're the one who doesn't know! And for once, you're going to listen to me! I was there, the day you guys split up. He doesn't care about you! You're just a tool to him. He left you behind just like that. It was as painful for him as snapping his fingers.**”

“**It's not true, you don't understand...**”

“**You're the one who doesn't get it! You're totally blinded. Under the pretext that he can do a couple of things with his head, and that he can cast a spell or two, you're all swooning in front of him. But he's not your friend. He doesn't care about you.**”

“**Listen, Aberforth. I can see that you have legitimate reasons to be jealous. I've sometimes given up on you in favour of...**”

“**Me? Jealous of... _him_?! How could I be jealous of someone like _him_ when he’s everything I hate!**”

“**That's the only reason I can think of to explain such a rage against him.**”

“**Against _him_? So you really think I'm doing this to destroy _him_? I don't care about _him_. I'm only doing this to protect _you_. You haven't seen yourself. The day he left... the day he left, he destroyed everything. You were the first. When you realized how you'd been manipulated, how you didn't matter to him, something must've broken inside you, you were never the same.**”

Albus swallows and, for the first time since the beginning of this conversation, he wishes Aberforth wasn’t facing him, to leave him alone with his fears. Because his brother had indeed just scratched a sensitive crack in the wall of his certainties. It was obvious, even to him, that he loved Gellert more than Gellert loved him back. First of all, it was obvious that Gellert was more attracted to the opposite sex and that Albus was the only exception. Moreover, the young German had so many visions in his head and so many plans in his heart that he had little room for Albus. However, Albus had always said to himself that he still had enough room. That he would be satisfied with all that Gellert had to offer. But now Aberforth was rekindling a doubt that had never been completely buried.

“**You're... you're talking nonsense.**”

“**Really?**”

Aberforth turned to the sink to start picking up the scattered pieces of glass. Albus, on the other hand, was detailing his brother's curved, sturdy back, lost in thought and contemplation. He had nothing to say. Nothing to add. Yet he felt terrible for feeling this doubt that he had no right to feel. How dare he show the slightest doubt about Gellert in front of someone? They had sworn to ally themselves in peace as well as in adversity. It was his duty to defend him against all slander and attack.

“**Gellert is the best thing that ever happened to me.**”

Aberforth did not answer at once. He was bent over the sink, and between his bushy beard and long hair it was impossible to discern anything from his face. But at last he began again in a voice so murmured that Albus could hardly hear him.

“**_He_ destroyed our family.**”

Aberforth and his gift for drama. Albus had often encouraged his brother to join the school's drama club at the time run by Professor Herbert Beery, but he had never done so. Too bad, his brother had an undeniable talent.

“**I thought you said I was barely a part of the family, though. What does it matter to you what Gellert does or doesn't do to me?**”

Aberforth had a laugh that was not amused.

“**You always think it's all about you.**”

“**I don't know what you're getting at.**”

Aberforth threw his rag into the sink in a furious gesture, and in three steps he crossed the distance between himself and Albus. He took him by the elbow again to lead him to the living room.

“**Aberforth, let go, you're hurting me!**”

But Aberforth didn't listen in the least, he kept dragging his brother after him, until he came back to the portrait he didn't want him to see a few minutes earlier.

“**There,**" Aberforth finally made in a grand gesture towards the portrait. “**This is what Gellert did to this family.**”

“**What... A portrait?**”

“**And to think they call you clever!**”

Not noting the insult, Albus took a step forward to detail the portrait. It was indeed Ariana, in her favourite little blue dress that her mother had made for her fourteenth birthday. She had her long blonde hair skillfully braided and a slightly pale smile lightened her face. Albus saw nothing special in this painting. Except... that she looked just like the sister he had left two months ago.

“**She's young.**”

“**She's never been over that age.**”

Slowly, very slowly, Albus turned his head towards Aberforth. His brain, stunned and numb, had the greatest difficulty making sense of the information.

“**What do you mean.**”

“**You said _he_ didn't do anything to our family. That _he_ was the best thing that ever happened. But here's what he really did do to this family. Ariana. He took her from us.**”

“**No, he didn't. There must be some misunderstanding. Gellert would never do that.**”

“**A misunderstanding in the form of a spell cast on her chest? No. I find that hard to believe.**”

Albus is slowly backing away. One step back. Two steps. As if physically pulling away from Aberforth also pulls him away from the truth. But the corner of the table soon came up against his back and he had to stop.

“**That's not true. You're lying. You've always wanted to discredit him.**”

“**Really? You don't believe me! Why don't you use the Legilimency to find out for sure.**”

Albus turned around and walked around the table towards the window. Air. He needed air.

“**I-I don't need it. I know Gellert would never do that. You have to be lying.**”

Aberforth joined him in a few steps and grabbed him by the arm.

“**Look inside my head.**”

“**No.**”

“**LOOK!**”

Reluctantly, with bile in his throat, Albus threw himself into his brother's mind.

* * *

* * *

_ Their living room at Godric's Hollow. Devastated. Broken dishes on the floor. Hanging rods. Shards of wood and glass._

_ Ariana, cornered. Crying and shaking._

_ Aberforth on the floor. Bleeding._

_ Albus and Gellert, wand in hand. Aimed at each other._

_ Streams of light. Red. Gold. Blue... Green._

_ Spells bouncing off without touching anything._

_ The blood pact around Gellert's neck glowing brightly. A beacon to the protective light in this storm of colour that is the duel of the two greatest wizards._

_ An explosion of green light._

_ Howling._

_ Silence._

_ Ariana on the ground. Her big blue eyes wide open in horror. Dead._

* * *

* * *

Albus got himself out of Aberforth's head as best he could. His breath was short and his heart quick. He was about to vomit.

“**You're... you're lying. It's a lie. All of it. This... this can't be true!**”

Albus snatched himself from his brother's grip to put as much distance between them as possible.

“**Albus asked me not to tell you. But I'm tired of lying for him.**”

But Albus wasn't listening anymore. The blood was beating in his ears and it felt like his heart was pounding against his ribs. With trembling, sweaty hands, he clung to the wall. Everything spin around him and he didn't know whether he was able to take a step without wobbling dangerously. Aberforth kept talking, but Albus couldn't hear anything. He had to get out. Quickly.

He went around the table, taking the farthest path from Aberforth and, staggering but at full speed, he headed for the tavern exit. His brother's voice followed him and haunted him with an echo.

“**_He_ will destroy you. Like he destroyed this family!**”

No. It was all a lie. Absolutely not true. It was all a trap. A vulgar trap so that...

Albus puked his guts out in the gutter a few steps from the pub. Spitting out the leftovers of a badly digested lunch, soon he had only acidic and painful bile to regurgitate. But that wasn't what worried him most. It was the dizziness that threatened to make him fall at any moment. The world was spinning around him, leaving him no anchor. The light was too strong for his sensitive eyes, the rain too cold on his burning skin, the wind too strong against his buzzing ears.

Slowly, taking deep breaths to try to calm down, and grabbing the wall to keep some semblance of balance, Albus took a few steps towards the perpendicular street, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the pub. All this was bound to be wrong. Gellert would never do that. He would never hurt him. Yet it was a genuine memory of his brother. How was it possible that...

“**Albus Dumbledore?**”

No, it wasn't good timing. Ignoring the voice behind him, Albus continued on his tedious path.

“**Dumbledore!**”

The voice was getting closer, and Albus was in no condition to run ahead of it. Soon he felt a hand on his shoulder that forced him to turn it over. He turned around to find himself in front of a very old, stunted, nervous man whom he had never seen before. If only this man could continue on his way and leave, Albus was in no condition to answer to anyone. He needed some time. He needed to think. But most of all, he needed the world to finally leave him alone!

“**You probably don't recognize me. But that's going to change. My name is Torquil Travers.**”

“**Ah...**”

That name meant nothing to Albus' ears. In fact, he'd hardly heard it at all. The ringing in his ears didn't get any better, and he felt nauseated again. He could no longer see the narrow, soggy alleys of Hogsmeade. No, as soon as he closed his eyes, a single image came to superimpose itself on the one that his eyes were struggling to offer him. Ariana. Lying on the ground. Eyes wide open. The terror painted on her face.

Albus took a few steps. He had to get away from this Travers man. He had to get away from everything. Maybe if he just kept walking and never stopped, then he'd be able to outrun his visions.

“**Wait, we have a lot to talk about. Believe me, you want to know what I have to say!**”

Albus quickened his pace, but the world kept spinning around him and the damned old man kept following him. But damn it, couldn't the world leave him in peace finally?

“**No matter how fast you run, you won't escape me. The others may be fooled, but not me!**”

Albus couldn't take much more of this. He started running. Running as fast as he could. To escape the damn memory that wasn't his, and yet haunted him as if he'd been there that day. And surely, he had been, somehow. Running away from his doubts, too. To keep himself from thinking. Of his sister, of his brother. Of Gellert, especially. He couldn’t think about it. He must not think about it.

He walked past a few rare walkers without seeing them, nearly avoiding them each time as he went into the most remote streets of the village. But soon, he became dizzy and at the end of his strength, he had to stop, staggering to an isolated recess. Breathless, his throat on fire and eyes watering, he put his trembling and icy hands against the soggy stone of the wall, as much to anchor himself in reality as to avoid collapsing on himself.

It took all his strength to close his eyes, chasing all his thoughts into the back of his head. Yet one resisted and kept coming back to meet his mind.

…

He killed his sister.

He killed his sister.

He killed his own sister.

The characteristic sound of Apparition shattered his thoughts, and Albus barely had time to turn around before he felt more than he saw the old man from earlier stick him to the wall with a strength astonishing for his age.

“**You won't get away from me! You already ruined my life once, now you owe me the truth!**”

“**Let go of me!**”

“**Oh, hell no!**”

“**Let go of me!**”

He struggled as best he could, but the grasping grip was firm and did not waver. It brought him back to the hand of Aberforth that had held him when he learned that...

He killed his sister.

His own sister.

Ariana

The too-sweet and tender Ariana...

“**They wouldn't believe me. When I told them who the noble Dumbledore really was beneath his humanistic airs... They laughed in my face. They called you a hero, and they called me a liar. But I was right! I'd seen your mask! And when you won the war, they swore me to silence. But I knew the truth. About you, and about Grindelwald. I know your story. And today, nothing will stop me from telling them. From exposing your lies and plots. To show everyone what you're desperately hiding. I'm going to tell the truth, and the Minister will welcome me as a hero for it!**”

“**I don't know what you're talking about! Let me go, you're hurting me!**”

Albus tried again to pull himself out of the grip, bucking and pulling in all directions, but the old man pinned him to the wall. Albus couldn't breathe. Everything was spinning. Around him as in his head. He had too many thoughts, too many fears, too much guilt, too many memories, too many secrets. Too many too many! He wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop! Stop... STOP!!!!

“**I know your secret, and I will destroy you, you and Grindelwald...**”

“**LET GO OF ME!**”

Albus threw his hands forward and with them, all the brute force of his magic.

* * *

* * *

Gellert was preoccupied.

He hadn't heard from Albus yet. Potter and his gang had returned from Hogsmeade an hour ago, and Albus was supposed to be with them. Gellert was trying to put things into perspective, thinking that his lover had probably found something worthwhile along the way and had lingered. It's not as if there was anything that could do the slightest harm to a wizard of his level. Especially not in a place as bourgeois and conventional as Hogsmeade. On the other hand, he had other things to consider and he should not dilute his attention.

He had spent the whole afternoon in the Great Hall so that he could be seen by as many people as possible and so that he could not be accused of plotting anything. He had played (and won) a couple of games of chess with the Hogwarts champion (a particularly snobbish Ravenclaw), then he had agreed to give some help to Seventh Year Hufflepuffs who were struggling to write their essay for Snape, and finally he had got down to his own assignments and Albus' (so that they could both have Sunday off). It was now nearly six o'clock, and Gellert was coming to the end of his ideas for keeping himself busy. But this was no big deal, since he now had an appointment to retrieve an item of great value for his future plans. Once certain that no one was watching him, he slipped out of the Great Hall and discreetly headed in the direction of the dungeons.

Hogwarts' underground was vast and largely unexplored. Many areas were abandoned, and it was easy to get lost in them as you ventured beyond the usual areas of potion lessons and Slytherin's lodgings. During his early days at Hogwarts, Gellert had been keen to explore the castle, and the dungeons seemed to him a fascinating place, full of history and opportunity. A general gathering, a private meeting or a solitary stroll, this maze of dark corridors and abandoned rooms was a nirvana for anyone seeking a little privacy and seclusion. It was in these places that he would gather his "friends" from Hufflepuff and Slytherin for their "discussions". But today, it was a completely different meeting that he had in mind.

He walked for a moment through these dark corridors, only accompanied by the sound of his own footsteps, until he reached a remote alcove where he was now accustomed to meeting Draco.

He was already there. Always so zealous, Gellert remarked with amusement. This boy could go far. His family, his money, his devotion, his contacts, everything about him made him an excellent ally in Gellert's eyes, and he rejoiced every day in the misunderstanding that had made their collaboration possible.

“**I have your item!**" exclaimed Draco immediately when he saw Gellert arrive.

“**Calm down. We have all the time in the world. Instead, tell me how it went.**”

Malfoy took a deep breath. It was obvious that this meeting had left him tense and anxious. Yes, the little he had seen of Vinda himself seemed capable of doing that, it is true. Clearly, the confrontation between Draco, who after all was quite young and naive, and the more experienced and serious activists must have caused some sparks. Gellert hoped that this kind of meeting would make his young friend grow.

“**I'm fine. It all went well. But that woman there... she had quite a temper.**”

“**Yes, I can imagine. But you came out of it in one piece, and you got me what I needed. I call it a resounding success.**”

Draco let out a delighted grin, obviously proud of himself. Slowly, dramatically, the Slytherin get out from under his sweater an object wrapped in a grey package. Gellert finally took it and slipped it into his own bag.

“**What's that?**”

Gellert hesitated to answer for a moment. This information wasn't that sensitive, and probably showing him a little trust could help ensure Draco's loyalty. So he took out the object and unwrapped it before the Slytherin's greedy eyes.

“**A mirror?**" Draco remarked, disappointed.

“**A Two-Way Mirror,**” corrected Gellert. “**It allows me to communicate with the person who has the mirror linked to it wherever he is in the world. It allows me to keep in touch with the outside world.**”

“**Oh, I think I've seen one before. At the Rosier's. We often go to dinner at their house. They're my cousins, sort of. There's a mirror like that at their house, I think.**”

“**Oh, really?**”

Gellert was not ready to announce that the mirror was actually the same one that Draco had seen at the Rosier's house. For the time being, it was imperative to hide this alliance. Vinda Rosier, whom he had met in Knockturn Alley, had explained to him the complicated position her family was in. She had explained that after his fall, she had joined Voldemort in the hope that his reign would see the dismantling of Nurmengard and the release of her true master: Gellert. Now that the two dark wizards were at large, they were in the unstable position of serving Voldemort while their hearts and loyalties had always leaned towards Grindelwald. The young man had fully appreciated the delicacy of the situation, which suited him perfectly. He now had a family in the ranks of his enemy, but for this to continue, it was imperative that he conceal his link with the Rosiers. He could trust Draco for some information, but certainly not for one as sensitive and delicate as this one.

“**Yes. It's hanging on the mantel.**”

“**Two-Way Mirrors are not particularly rare objects. But they're very useful. And thanks to you, it's going to make my life a lot easier.**”

Again, Draco smiled proudly and shrugged his shoulders with a falsely disinterested look. Gellert could only rejoice in the boy's willingness to help. It was obvious that he had only one desire, to prove himself. And Gellert thought that, if he played his cards right, when the day came, the young man might choose him over Voldemort.

He looked for a moment at the collar of the boy's shirt and could see a very slight crease that revealed the presence of a chain under the white cloth. Gellert held back his smile. It had been his idea, the necklace, and he had asked Vinda to provide the boy with one. He knew that a mark of belonging was the kind of thing that would solidify Draco's loyalty, and the fact that he was already wearing it went in that direction.

“**Thank you for your help, Draco. I'll let you know what comes next.**”

Now it was time to confront someone else, someone much more useful. It was nearly nineteen o'clock now, the trip to Hogsmeade had been over for a good hour, and Albus must have been somewhere in the castle. Guessing that he must be in the Dormitory or the Common Room, Gellert quickly climbed the seven floors that separated him from the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“**Mimbulus Mimbletonia.**”

Nowhere in the Common Room. Nowhere in the dormitories which were absolutely empty. Gellert went back down to the Common Room and walked over to Harry who was busy with Ron writing his dream journal for the Divination class.

“**Do you know where Albus is?**”

“**No. He had something to do at Hogsmeade with the bartender from Hog’s Head, but we haven't seen him since.**"

“**Did you know what he had to do?**”

“**No. He left in a hurry, didn't take the time to tell us anything.**”

Frustrated, Gellert went back up to the dormitories. All he had to do now was wait for Albus to deign to come back to him. And if he could be the most patient man in the world, he was not the case when he was left in ignorance. He let himself fall on his bed, grumbling at that damn bartender who apparently was more important than he was to Albus.

He looked for a moment at Albus' empty bed and wondered if his doubts were well-founded. He knew that it was impossible for Albus to find someone in one afternoon who could surpass the opinion he had of him, but perhaps he had found a figure from the past who had held him back. Gellert wasn't blind enough to believe that Albus was happy right now. Maybe he was neglecting him too much.

Gellert finally noticed Albus' abandoned bag on the corner of the bed. At least that meant he was planning to come back. Slowly, almost lazily, the young German boy got up to get to his friend's bed. He opened the bag without hindrance to discover its contents.

Albus had often lectured him for his lack of social inhibition. He had this unfortunate tendency to overstep tacit boundaries, standing too close to others, taking an interest in visibly private matters, and considering the affairs of others as his own. Thus, for him, and to Albus' chagrin, there was nothing wrong with searching a bag. Especially since Gellert considered, one, that it was a good punishment for Albus' carelessness in tidying up his bag, and two, that if it allowed him to find out why Albus still hadn't returned, the vice was worth the benefit.

So he took out of the bag the two textbooks, the quill and the inkwell, a few notes, and a half-translated rune text. Nothing interesting. The banal and boring bag of a much-too-serious student. Gellert sighed as he dropped the now empty bag at the foot of the bed. What could Albus be doing?

It was then that he noticed, in the corner of his eye, that there was something strange about one of the books. He concentrated on it and noticed that the Transfiguration manual seemed to open naturally, as if something too thick was contained inside. So Gellert took it in his hands and slid the pages until they stopped by themselves in the middle of the book. There appeared a piece of parchment, which had obviously been crumpled and then flattened. Curious, Gellert took it between his long fingers and began to read the letter written on it.

_Good evening my dearest friend,_

When he finished reading, Gellert laid the letter flat in its place.

This discovery had troubled him even more than he already was. What an idiot he was. He knew Albus wasn't well. He'd seen it the moment they arrived at Hogwarts. But he’d believed he had the luxury of letting things work themselves out. He'd stood him up in favour of his debate group. He'd hidden his vision from him. He had used him without offering him anything in return, and had not bothered to try and understand Albus' view of the current situation.

If Gellert had been one of those people who beat himself up, he would've slapped himself. But he was more into action than reaction. He had to make it right. And quickly.

He jumped on his feet, grabbed his coat and wrapped himself in it. He had to find Albus.

It's never too difficult to escape from a place if you have a little imagination and the ability to make yourself invisible with a few spells. And Gellert had always excelled in both of these skills. So, he effortlessly exited the castle, hurtling down the hill towards Hogsmeade as night fell. Once there, he hesitated to ask the first man for directions and gave up. He didn't know who was able to recognize him or not. Besides, the village was not very big, and he was ready to search it from top to bottom if it was necessary to find Albus.

But he didn't need that. His instincts guided him unerringly, and he had no trouble finding his lover. He dispelled his spells of invisibility and rushed towards him but froze when he discovered the scene.

Albus was sitting on a ledge, his eyes empty and his cheeks reddened by marks of dried tears. Opposite him, a man sat quietly on the floor, his face bleeding, contrasting with the air of euphoria and calm he displayed. An air characteristic of the Imperius Curse.

“**Gellert...**” finally articulated an almost comatose Albus. “**I-I think I made a mistake.**”


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens!
> 
> I hope you had a wonderful New Year's Eve, and I wish you an happy new year! <3
> 
> Beta reader : HowDoTheyRiseUp, thank you for making this chapter more legible!

“**What the hell happened?**”

It was a scene of great violence that Gellert saw at that very moment. First of all, he'd never seen Albus in such a state before. His curls, which normally so quietly framed his smooth, fresh face, were tousled in every direction. His salt-marked cheeks were turned pink by emotion, yet Gellert guessed that they were frozen. Finally, his usually piercing blue eyes were distant and dark, tortured by thoughts whose nature Gellert could hardly guess. Around him, the alleyway showed all the signs of a violent use of magic. Some of the paving stones on the ground had been torn from their places and lay broken at the foot of the walls. Those walls had multiple cracks, as if they had been subjected to too much pressure, which had curved them in an unnatural way. Finally, the other man, completely unknown, was sitting on the floor, but from the strange angle that twisted his leg, the curtain of blood covering the right side of his face and his wheezing breath, Gellert could guess that he was much more wounded than his empty air of happiness would suggest.

“**Albus... what happened?**”

Albus didn't answer. His eyes had wandered somewhere to Gellert's right. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, but seemed to see a lot. Things that the German boy couldn't see, and that worried him deeply. Slowly, he approached him, being careful not to make any sudden movements, and then, slowly, he sat down right next to him.

“**Albus, look at me.**”

His injunction had no effect and Gellert decided to take his face in his hand to forcibly draw his attention to himself.

“**Albus, what happened?**”

Finally, Albus' eyes froze on his own and Gellert saw the tears they contained freeing themselves and sliding down his cold cheeks.

“**I messed up, Gellert, I messed up so badly.**”

“**You didn't, Albus. Look, it's all right.**”

“**No, you don't understand...**”

“**Whatever you did, I'm sure we can fix it.**”

He knew he couldn't get anything out of Albus if he was in that condition. So he took him in his arms. Albus seemed to resist a little, but Gellert forced him against his chest. Once he had the young man against him, he gently began to rock him, ignoring the rising dampness against his shoulder that Albus was holding back from crying on.

“**I need you to tell me what happened. Explain it to me, and I promise I'll fix everything.**”

“**I didn't mean to. It went too fast. He was there... he wouldn't let go of me. I asked him, Gellert. I asked him to let me go. But he wouldn't listen to me. He kept... talking... He said he wanted to destroy us. He said he knew everything. He knows everything, Gellert! He knows everything. He kept repeating it. Over and over again. He wouldn't shut up! I asked him to. I begged him. But he wouldn't listen to me. He wouldn't let me go. I just wanted him to let go of me, Gellert! That's all I wanted!**”

The story was disjointed and the narrative biased, but Gellert was slowly beginning to fit the elements together. Yet he knew he would get nothing more out of Albus. He just held him a little tighter, while shifting his attention to the man on the ground. It was when he saw the old man’s empty gaze that he had his next idea.

“**Albus, did you subject him to the Imperio curse?**”

“**Yes... he was bleeding so much... he kept saying he had proof. That he'd tell everyone what I'd done! I... I didn't know what to do!**”

“**You did the right thing. Hey... Hey Albus.**”

Gellert gently pushed Albus away to force him to look at him.

“**Hey, Albus. You did well. There was no other way. Now let me fix it, okay? Okay, Albus?**”

There was a tense moment, but Albus ended up gently nodding his head.

“**Well, ask him to answer my questions and tell me the whole truth.**”

Slowly Albus wiped his eyes from the back of his sleeve and sat up slightly. Then he faced the stranger on the ground. But Gellert could clearly see his lover's apprehension at the sight of the bleeding face facing him. However, he swallowed his fear and articulated clearly.

“**You will answer to Gellert. Tell him the whole truth.**”

An empty smile stretched the man's lips and Gellert could not help but be impressed by the obvious power of the spell Albus had cast. However, he had better things to do for now than to applaud his friend.

“**Who are you?**” he began in a soft voice.

It was necessary to avoid any triggers of opposition and conflict. So he used his most pleasant and reassuring voice, a voice he had learned to master in his first year at Durmstrang and which had always served him well.

“**Torquil Travers.**”

“**And?**”

“**I was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Before I was insistently shown the door.**”

“**How do you know Albus?**”

“**He started Hogwarts when I was a Sixth Year. Then we had more regular contact when he became a member of the Wizengamot and I joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We often disagreed.**”

“**Your relationship grew sour during the war against me, I suppose.**”

“**Yes. I guessed at once that Dumbledore was pursuing different ends than he was publicly assuming. He said he was against Grindelwald, but his actions did nothing to prove it. So I ran a campaign against him. Surveillance, interrogation, anything that would finally expose this man's secrets. But before I could reach a defensible conclusion, Dumbledore went to war and defeated Grindelwald. After that, everything I could find was buried. Post-war Europe didn't want to question its heroes. It was decided at the summit that all information concerning the link between Grindelwald and Dumbledore would be erased from the official archives and memories. And when I wanted to make my voice heard, to explain my doubts, I was thrown out.**”

That explained the negative feelings this Travers man may have had towards Albus. But what remained strange was the strong reaction Albus, normally so restrained, had had to his contact. But the one concerned was still silent, sitting next to Gellert, his eyes impassive, as if he was outside the whole situation.

“**Is that why you wanted to find Albus this afternoon?**" Gellert finally asked. “**To confront him?**”

“**Yes! I finally have the opportunity to prove that, for all these years, I was right! I know his story is false. It was in 1899 that Dumbledore first met Grindelwald. There's no way that a photograph from 1896 shows the two of them together. It's a frame-up! It's obvious!**”

“**Why did you wait all this time before confronting Albus?**”

“**I wanted proof so no one could call me a liar. Irrefutable evidence to destroy that man's reputation forever and restore mine.**”

That was great news. It meant that he had not yet contacted the Ministry or any other authority. But it seemed almost too good to be true. Even if the Department hadn't listened to this man a few years earlier, it didn't necessarily mean that no one had heard about this man's suspicions.

“**So,**” continued Gellert, who leaned over to focus all his attention on Travers, “**You've told other people about him...**”

“**Yes. Anyone who might have had any information.**”

“**Who exactly?**”

“**First, Bathilda Bagshot. But the old woman was too senile, her testimony would've been inadmissible. Next, Dumbledore's childhood friend, Elphias Dodge. But I wasn't the first to visit him and he was ready to defend the lie of his great friend tooth and nail. I tried the owner of the Hog’s Head as well, but he claims to know nothing about his brother's life.**”

Gellert held back a frown. Then the famous manager of the Hog’s Head, the one Albus had returned to see, was none other than his own brother... Was it their meeting that had put Albus in such a state that he had unleashed his magic on such a harmless man as Travers?

“**Who else?**” he forced himself to continue, pushing his questions into a corner of his mind.

“**I have no one left. The only others who could help me were the Scamander brothers, both of whom died recently, and the five Aurors who worked for me on the Dumbledore case. Three of them died of old age, the fourth was Obliviated a few years ago, compromising his long-term memory, and the last one wants nothing more to do with Dumbledore.**”

Gellert held back a smile. Clearly, his lover's alter-ego had left nothing to chance. And the young German felt that, as long as they had this old man to cover their backs, they would be really safe.

“**And that's why you decided to confront Albus directly? You were desperate and you hoped he'd betray himself.**”

“**I had no other choice. For fifty years I've been searching for a way to set the record straight, once and for all. To prove to everyone that I wasn’t the one who lied, that from the beginning I was the only one who saw the truth. But I was running out of things to explore.**”

“**In short... You have nothing against us.**”

It wasn't a question and Travers didn't answer, returning instead to his comatose state.

“**Well, it's time to put an end to this pseudo-threat.**”

Gellert stood up energetically and drew his wand to point it at Travers' chest. But before he could do anything, Albus jumped to his feet and stood between him and his target.

“**No!**”

Albus' alertness baffled Gellert. Was it fear he saw in his wide-eyed eyes?

“**Albus... what's the matter with you?**”

“**What's the matter with _you_? What are you going to do?!**”

“**Well, an Obliviate. What else?**”

“**Ah...**”

Slowly, Albus took a few steps back. But Gellert could not silence the little voice in his head that emphasized the fact that the fear he had seen in his lover's eyes seemed to be directed against him.

“**Albus, what happened?**”

“**Nothing.**”

“**Who do you think I am, Albus? Do you really think I can be fooled in any way?**”

Albus didn't answer. He turned to Travers and pulled out his wand. He threw several Episkeys until his target looked good. He followed with a Tergeo to clean the blood and the man’s muddy robes.

“**Albus...**”

“**Obliviate him. The last few hours should do it.**”

“**Ok. But this conversation isn't over.**”

He cast the spell on the man but then turned to Albus.

“**He's gonna know that his blackout is exactly when he should have met you. With your Legilimency skills, you must be able to implant a new memory in his head.**”

Albus looked worried for a moment. Gellert knew that his lover always seemed to hesitate every time a legally reprehensible magic act was required. No wonder, with what had happened to his father... But Gellert thought he saw a semblance of... suspicion in Albus' eyes. As if he was accusing Gellert of something. However, he finally shrugged his shoulders and acquiesced reluctantly. He turned to Travers and Gellert recognized the look in his eyes whenever he showed his undeniable talent for the Legilimency. He mumbled for a moment between his teeth, and then, after Travers lost consciousness, he finally turned back to his lover.

“**I implanted the memory of him, waiting for me to arrive in a bar, without seeing me. The alcohol he ingested will explain the blurring of his memories, and the headache he will wake up with.**”

“**Perfect. And now that we know our enemy, it'll be easy to keep an eye on him. I have a friend outside who can take care of that.**”

Albus replied nothing, his impenetrable face skillfully hiding his possible thoughts. Gellert gave up reading it immediately. Instead, he summoned a bottle of mead and poured some of it over the man who was now asleep on the floor and placed it in Travers' hand.

“**We should go home. It's getting late.**”

It was Albus who had just spoken and Gellert couldn't prove him wrong. The sun was now behind the horizon, and it must have been well past eight o'clock. So they headed back to the castle in a still young but already dark night. The silence between them was heavy, and Gellert couldn't bear it for long. He stopped abruptly. Albus continued for a few more steps before he realized what was happening and turned around.

“**What is it?**”

“**I think you are the one who should tell me, Albus.**”

“**What do you mean?**”

Gellert took a few steps to the side and sat on a rock by the side of the road.

“**I'm not moving from this spot until you give me an answer, Albus.**”

At first, Gellert thought he would simply refuse and continue without him, but finally Albus sighed and great fatigue dyed his face. Finally, slowly, he approached Gellert and faced him with an open face in the darkness.

“**It's been a... a difficult afternoon.**”

“**What happened. Tell me, please, Albus.**”

“**It all started at the Hog’s Head. That's where Granger set the meeting for the Defense Against the Dark Arts group. The manager looked familiar. But it wasn't until later that I figure out who he was.**”

“**It was Aberforth, wasn't it? Your brother...**”

“**Yes…**"

Albus remained silent for a while, lost in his thoughts. Then he continued. Painfully.

“**He... I... He told me why we split up a century ago.**”

Gellert fell silent, feeling his heart squeeze slightly. He had searched through all the history books he could find the reason for their separation. But none of them mentioned that summer of 1899, let alone the reason for its end. Taking a deep breath, Gellert focused all his attention on Albus. It was the moment of truth.

“**Did I tell you about how my mother died?**”

Gellert was caught by surprise, but he didn't show it. The subject of the untimely death of Albus' mother was taboo between them. Bathilda had warned him that the wound was still fresh and that it was better not to broach the subject. On the rare occasions when he had disregarded the advice of his great-great-aunt, Albus had been evasive at best. However, through reflection and half-answers, he had been able to put together enough pieces to be able to guess what had happened. He had just never had the conversation.

Slowly Albus came a little closer to him and, visibly exhausted and defeated, he let himself fall to his side on the rock.

It was a soft night. The great black sky above them, finally cleared of the clouds of the day, generously offered to the curious eyes a plethora of twinkling stars. A cool breeze sometimes came to embellish this autumnal beauty. In the distance, the castle shone in the darkness, its bold towers defying the night. Behind them, further downstream, Hogsmeade was slowly beginning to fall asleep, the lights in the windows going out one after the other. All in all, a perfect night for whispered confidences in the silence of peaceful contemplation.

Albus let his eyes run over the surrounding landscape, his dark gaze in the night getting lost in the distant valleys and the great lake that separated them from him.

“**It was the first day of the summer holidays.**”

It was almost by surprise that the voice began to resonate in the stillness of the surrounding landscape, but Gellert was not prepared to interrupt it, letting it unravel by itself like a clear stream.

“**I only came home to get my stuff. I had to leave the next day with Elphias, for our world tour. We had been talking about it for three years. Everything was ready and the adventure was waiting for me. It happened just after lunch. I had closed myself up in my room to answer a letter from the Minister of Magic offering me a job as an advisor.**”

Silence regained its rights and Albus wore a smile as tender as it was sad as he was remembering everything. Gellert hesitated for a moment, but finally took his hand, gently squeezing it and caressing Albus' palm with his thumb.

“**She called me. But I was so fed up with it Gellert. It was the same every time. When I'd come home for the summer, she'd put me in charge of so many chores. Helping Aberforth with his homework, reading stories to Ariana, picking our vegetables, helping her clean the house... Such... domesticity. So beneath my aspirations and my qualities. It was exhausting to have to interrupt writing an article for Transfiguration Today just to go and sing Ariana a lullaby. So on that day, when I was finally getting intoxicated for the first time by the feeling of freedom, when I heard her call me, I cast a spell of silence and continued my letter.**”

Gellert squeezed Albus' hand harder. He knew where things were going, and he almost hoped that an impromptu event would suddenly arise to change the narrative. But nothing seemed to be able to shake the gentle night around them, not even the pain and guilt palpable in Albus' voice when he resumed his story.

“**But she screamed so loudly that I heard her, despite the spell. I immediately rushed to the attic... but it was too late.**”

Albus leaned forward, as if trying to catch his breath with a throat that was too tight. But he continued nonetheless.

“**What I told you about... the Obscurus in my sister... it was everywhere! The walls were black with magic! It was a vision of horror, Gellert. As if I had entered another world. I could no longer see the walls or the floor. Only this... black cloth of magic. Everywhere. And my sister floating in the middle... My mother was there. She was on the ground, she tried to sing to Ariana but she couldn't... When she saw me, she tried to come towards me... So that I could protect her... I was the only one in the family with magic to rival Ariana's... But she never managed to reach me. She just had time to extend a hand. That's all, Gellert. Extend a hand, and the Obscurus attacked her. Magic went right through her... Right in front of me... Ariana killed her...**”

Now Albus was too short of breath to continue his story. But Gellert knew there was nothing he could bring him. No solace, no solution. Only the warmth of his hand in his own.

“**There was blood... oh, so much blood. All over the floor... And on the walls. Ariana calmed down, and when Obscurus disappeared, there was nothing but blood... And our mother... I didn't know what to do, Gellert! I had no idea what to do! So... I did what I could! I... I fixed... I fixed what was done... and I put... her body... at the bottom of the stairs. Then I opened her skull, and...**”

This time it was too much. Albus seemed to choke on his own words and fell silent for good. But Gellert could fill in the gaps with what he'd gleaned as information on the rare occasions he'd asked the question. Albus had disguised the crime as an accident, sent Aberforth and a sleeping Ariana to Bathilda's house and called the Aurors. Domestic accident confirmed: the next day Albus' mother was buried, and with her the tragic story of her death.

“**You did everything you could to protect Ariana, Albus. You've done more than your duty as a big brother.**”

“**No, Gellert, you don't understand. I was just a dumb teenager who wouldn't do the dishes, and I ignored my mother's cries for help.**”

“**You couldn't have known that...**”

“**And then you came into my life, and I gave up on Ariana every second I had the chance.**”

“**Don't be ridiculous. You didn't g...**”

“**That's what he showed me, Gellert! You were asking me what happened? That's what happened. Aberforth showed it to me.**”

“**Showed you what?**”

“**He showed me... he showed me how I killed Ariana.**”

Gellert was speechless. Surely, he had heard wrong. Yet the silence of the night offered no excuse for his sudden deafness.

“**You must be mistaken...**”

Or exaggerating. Albus often had a tendency to be so moral that he took upon himself the sins of others. But there, deep down inside, something was telling Gellert that this was not the case.

“**I saw it, Gellert. Aberforth showed it to me. The day I caused Ariana's death.**”

“**What exactly happened? What did you see?**”

“**I saw enough.**”

Gellert felt deep down inside that Albus wasn't telling him everything. And, given the content of what he was saying, he couldn't blame him. But he was no fool, though. And a dark thought was beginning to form in his mind... Albus had said earlier that Aberforth had shown him the day they parted. But he would never have left Albus just because he'd killed his sister. The only reason such an event could separate them rather than bring them together was... if he'd killed Ariana, not Albus.

“**It's me, isn't it? I'm the one who killed him, not you.**”

“**It was both of us. I didn't see what spell... but it doesn't matter.**”

“**It does matter, Albus!**”

“**No, it doesn't!**”

“**And why that**” Gellert asked this time with a touch of anger. “**Because you're the one who brought me into her life, anyway? Because you're guilty of bringing the big bad wolf into the sheepfold?**”

“**NO! That's not it!**”

“**Then what is it?!**”

“**It's me, her brother! Not you! I'm the one who was in charge of protecting her!... I'm the one who failed...**”

The end of this sentence was hiccuped in a muffled sob and Albus buried his head between his arms, visibly prey to unspeakable and contradictory feelings. Immediately, Gellert's anger vanished. Or rather, it slipped from Albus to Aberforth. How dare he do this to his own brother. Slowly, Gellert put his arm around Albus' shoulders and pulled him back against his body.

The night rocked them both as the stars seemed to fade in the sky, leaving the two lovers in an indistinguishable darkness. The wind had become an icy breeze that blew through their collars to their hearts. Yet there was still an almost painfully ironic sweetness in this nocturnal silence. As if the cold and darkness protected both of them from all the offenses that could still be done to them, and that they could heal by their modesty the raw wounds of the two boys.

“**When Travers... attacked me... I-I wasn't thinking. I reacted. Violently. And... for a moment... I thought... from the outside... it must have looked like my sister's temper tantrums.**”

“**It's nothing like that.**”

“**What if it does? What if, one day, I lose control of my magic for just a second?**”

“**That won't happen.**”

“**What if it does?**”

“**Then I'll be there.**”

Gellert straightened up and, taking Albus' elbow, forced him to face him.

“**Albus,**" he articulated carefully. “**I'll be there. I'll always be here.**”

And the two lovers kissed like never before. Painfully, fearfully, but with the need to make this kiss, even more than love, a promise. They were not alone. They were, and would remain, together. No matter what happened.

The night had seen them stop on the side of the road, had welcomed their confidences and their fears, their kisses too, and it watched them get up and take the road back to the castle. The great serene sky above them had remained undisturbed before their outbursts, and it was undisturbed that he accompanied them to the great gate of Hogwarts.

Albus and Gellert quickly rushed in, to leave the freezing cold of that autumn night. However, an unpleasant surprise awaited them in the hall, in the person of Umbridge.

“**Hem, hem,**” she started with her annoying cough that made Gellert sigh. “**I see you've finally decided to come back.**”

“**What a keen sense of observation,**” Gellert said, with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“**If I were you, I would try to use a bit more clairvoyance to discern a more opportune moment for humor.**”

“**Every moment is opportune for humor,**" Albus replied in the most cordial tone of conversation. “**It lightens hearts and underlines the hidden truths. But not everyone is always able to appreciate it, unfortunately.**”

“**Then you will be pleased to hear that I have a joke for you. It's about two students who go to Hogsmeade after hours without permission...**”

“**Wait,**" Gellert asked with a false innocence, "**isn't it the one that ends up with a mermaid drowning in a glass? I think I already know it.**”

“**No, it's the one that ends with a detention, Mr Grindelwald.**”

“**Typical,**" replied the interested party.

“**The punchline is a bit disappointing,**” nodded Albus. “**It's the worst enemy of a good joke. A predictable punchline.**”

“**Yes!**” Gellert added. “**If it had been "they lived happily ever after" then it would have been surprising, and therefore comical.**”

**“In my office! Right now!**”

Umbridge turned around and began to climb the floors. The two students followed her without flinching further. After the afternoon they had had, an evening in Umbridge’s office wasn't so bad after all.

The corridors were deserted, the students having already returned to their respective common rooms. There was no interruption until they arrived at the office of the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Umbridge sat in her chair and invited them to sit down in front of her. It was obvious that she was gloating as her gaze lingered on Albus. She had been trying to punish this boy far too wise and serious to be caught behaving inappropriately! Gellert could easily guess that she was thrilled at the mere thought of the detention she was finally going to be able to give him.

“**I hope you have an excellent excuse for your unacceptable lateness,**” she began with her toad-like voice. “**So? I'm listening, children.**”

“**It's a funny story,**" answered Gellert immediately. “**It turns out that Albus got lost in the alleys of Hogsmeade. So I went looking for him. And our delay is equal to the time it took me to find him and bring us both back to Hogwarts.**”

“**And yet I seem to have seen you this afternoon in the Great Hall, Mr. Grindelwald. You hadn't been to Hogsmeade, then.**”

“**No, I hadn't. But it wasn't until I realized Albus wasn't coming back that I thought he might be lost.**”

“**Why didn't you warn a professor?**”

“**Well, I wasn't sure that he was lost. It was just as likely that he had come back without me seeing him. Then I would have sent a teacher to Hogsmeade unnecessarily, and you would have accused me of knowingly wasting the teaching staff's time.**”

“**So you thought that going to Hogsmeade outside visiting hours, even though you had no authorization, would cause you less trouble than talking to a teacher?**”

“**Yes. What can I say, I have trust issues.**”

“**Do you think I'm an idiot, Mr. Grindelwald?**”

“**Is that a rhetorical question, or do I really have to give an honest answer?**”

“**I want to know immediately the real reason for your evening at Hogsmeade.**”

“**I just told you!**”

“**You're a shameless liar! I know it has something to do with Mr. Potter and his group of students. I know it does!**”

She now looked like a big, pink, bloated toad. Her bulging eyes were hardly held in her eye sockets and her big fingers were tightly clenched on the edge of her desk, turning white.

“**Potter and his student group?**” interrupted Albus, his eyes frowning.

“**I know you're one of them, Mr. Dumbledore.**”

“**First of all, there's nothing illegal about such a group. Secondly, a teacher spying on her students is morally deeply reprehensible.**”

“**I have a duty, Mr. Dumbledore, as High Inquisitor, to keep Hogwarts running smoothly. And that includes bringing disobedient children like you into line!**”

Her voice had twisted in her throat over that last exclamation, and it took her a few seconds to regain her calm and her honeyed, falsely-compassionate smile.

“**It'll be a month's detention, gentlemen.**”

“**For what?**” Albus asked with inappropriate politeness in this hostile conversation. “**For getting lost?**”

His tone wasn't provocative wasn’t provocative, not even a trace. He had just asked the question as if he was sincerely wondering about the answer. He had this polite smile on his lips, which Gellert had often seen him with when he was in society of any kind. The young German was impressed by this ability, but above all relieved that he was showing it again, so soon after the afternoon they had just lived.

“**For being in Hogsmeade outside visiting hours and for your insolence. Moreover, since you don't seem to be able to find your way outside the castle, I think it would be wiser to agree that today was your last trip to Hogsmeade. As for you, Mr Grindelwald, as you do not seem to consider yourself capable of abiding by a clear ban, you will spend all the next trip in my office, where I can keep an eye on you. Futhermore... I think that fifty points less each will make you think a bit more about your mistakes...**”

Of all the possible punishments, the point deduction was by far the one that worked the least on Gellert. He even found it humiliating that anyone would think he was capable of submitting to such an obvious carrot and stick. So it was with a simple, unshakeable smile that he replied to Umbridge. But even that was not enough to shake Umbridge’s victorious joy that she had finally managed to give a detention to Albus. Gellert simply wondered how many seconds it would take his lover to enchant the quill used in the punishment and thus rid it of all offensive powers.

“**That will be all,**” Umbridge finished again in her little girl's voice. “**You may return to your dormitories now. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight o'clock for your first detention.**”

Gellert and Albus were quick to leave the office and found themselves in the maze of stairs leading up to their common room.

Gellert's heart was a little lighter as he climbed upstairs. He was delighted that Albus had enough energy to respond to Umbridge as he had done. He gave him a smile that Albus couldn't ignore, and the two of them walked hand in hand up the last few deserted stairs to their dormitory.

The new wounds may have been painful and the old ones still fresh, but Gellert didn't give up hope that all this would bring them even closer together.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut, les gens !
> 
> I know, I know, it's been a long time, but I'm back at least. I could give you excuses about having a lot of works for college, and all... but actually I don't have any. But I'm really sorry and I hope you will enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> Also, big thanks to he beautiful HowDoTheyRiseUp, you corrected this chapter, making it all the more bearable to read. And also, she is a huge part of the reason I pick up my pen again (well, actually my keyboard if we're being precise) to continue this fanfic. ;)

**CHAPTER 9**

The weekend that followed this adventure in Hogsmeade took place in a special atmosphere. Harry, Ron and Hermione, completely unaware of what had happened on Saturday night, remained intoxicated by the exhilarating sensation of defying the rules and finally taking an active role in their rebellion. Never before had the two boys looked so cheerful as they did their homework for the week, and even Hermione looked dreamy as she tirelessly knitted hats and socks for the SPEW. But this state of gentle excitement didn't extend beyond the trio. Yet something had changed for the others as well.

Gellert didn't leave Albus during the entire weekend, not even for a second. The letter he had read, the confidences under the stars, the incident he had kept secret, had shaken him deeply. He knew it was all his fault. He had taken Albus for granted. Seeing the burning love in his friend's eyes had comforted him, and he had devoted himself entirely to other things, not realizing that by abandoning their habits from Godric's Hollow - where it had been just the two of them all day and night - he was trapping Albus in a sense of loneliness and abandonment that could only hurt their relationship. Especially since many shadows hovered over them. First, the disappearance of their blood pact, then the divergent paths their alter-egos had taken, and finally, the murder of Ariana... The two boys had not spoken of it again. But Gellert often caught Albus' distant and distressed gaze when he didn't think he was being watched. He knew very well that his friend was being properly tortured by the revelation and that he no longer knew what to do with his feelings and thoughts. There was little Gellert could do about it. At first he had asked to see the memory in question, but Albus had firmly refused. He had been surprised by this. Gellert Grindelwald was not used to being told “no”, and Albus had never had the fortitude to offer even the slightest resistance. But this time he had been inflexible, and Gellert had understood from the sound of his voice that there was no point in arguing. So he’d dropped the subject, but promised to do everything he could to rectify the situation. Hence his promise not to leave Albus.

Of course, he couldn't keep it indefinitely, but he was certain he had to improve his behavior. So Gellert decided to share his vision with Albus. One of the reasons they had lost some of their complicity was because they were no longer busy plotting together, especially regarding their quest for the Deathly Hallows. So Gellert felt that Albus had a right to know why their goals had changed. The vision had left the Englishman pensive, but he hadn't given up. Even if Gellert would eventually renounce the Relics, it didn't mean that they shouldn't seek them. On the contrary; according to Albus, perhaps giving up the Hallows would offer some advantages to Gellert, and if so, it was absolutely necessary for them to find them. The German boy had given in without much resistance, more out of a desire to get closer to Albus than out of real conviction.

To complete this process, Gellert had also decided to include Albus more in the other part of his plans: his latent revolution. His breeding ground, as he called his debating group of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, was of great concern to him, and he shared all his thoughts with his lover. His goals, his possibilities, his problems, everything that crossed his mind. Albus, for his part, listened with unfailing attention, and Gellert could see that, in those moments, Ariana's sad fate was no longer at the front of his mind. So he did not skimp on details and digressions, and he had to confess to himself that, even if he had not noticed it right away, he had deeply missed his bond with Albus. He knew that, once the week had started again, he would have to keep a distance from his lover again, but the two boys promised to set aside some time to talk and think, every night, when the others had fallen asleep.

So it was with this promise, and the conviction that things could only get better, that Gellert and Albus got up on Monday morning and went to class. Of course, there was the prospect of their detention with Umbridge, but that didn't darken their mood, and the sun was shining as if it were the height of summer when they arrived at the common room. They noticed, however, that Harry and Ron, surrounded by a small group of younger Gryffindors, were all huddled around the bulletin board.

“**What's going on?**" asked Gellert as he joined them.

Their worried faces spoke for themselves, and Ron simply pointed to a large, formal-looking piece of paper that covered the entire panel. Gellert and Albus moved closer together and quickly scanned it.

"**Well, that's to be expected**," Gellert commented while shrugging his shoulders, not surprised in the slightest.

“**What do you mean?**" asked Harry, who seemed dismayed by the notice to close the student groups.

“**Forbidding the gathering. It was obviously a key step in Umbridge’s plan. I'm surprised that it took so long...**"

Harry and Ron mumbled in frustration and quickly moved away to a corner of the Common Room to isolate themselves. Albus watched them and took some time to figure out what the hell was going on. After all that had happened at Hogsmeade, he had almost forgotten about the Defense classes.

"**Gellert, leave without me, I'll be with you in a moment, okay?**”

Gellert nodded his head and Albus quickly joined the Gryffindor duo.

“**Something is telling me our little group won't get past the High Inquisitor’s permission!**" Ron said in a falsely clear tone.

“**This is no coincidence. She knows.**”

Harry seemed to be bubbling with rage. Albus could understand that. It was infuriating. But not that surprising. The rage seemed relatively unjustified to him. Like a lot of the anger that Harry seemed to feel from time to time... He'd talked about it with Gellert, and there was something strange underneath it.

“**Not possible.**”

“**Of course it is**," Albus whispered with emphasis. “**We weren't alone in that bar. Twenty-six students from Hogwarts in a seedy pub, that's what got us attention. Not to mention the fact that we didn't see the faces of any of the other customers. Any one of them could've been spying for Umbridge.**”

Albus didn't add that Umbridge herself had admitted it. There was no need to and the other two Gryffindors boys were pretty upset already.

“**And then,**" Harry continued, "**it could also have been one of the students. Any one of them could have told Umbridge what was going on.**”

“**No, they couldn't. The spell prevented it.**”

Ron and Harry turned to Albus.

"**The spell? What spell?**”

“**Well, the one on the scroll we signed, of course.**”

The other two Gryffindors looked at him without understanding, and Albus thought it good to elaborate.

"**The scroll we signed with our names prevents us from disclosing the existence of this group. Or rather, I think it casts a curse if anyone does. I couldn't tell you more— After all, I only had it in my hands for a few seconds. If the curse had been unleashed, I think we'd know about it.**”

“**But how do you know that?**”

“**Well, I felt it when I touched the scroll.**”

“**You... felt it?**”

“**Anyway,**" Albus continued, ignoring their stunned looks, "**it wasn't one of the group members, it was one of the bar's occupants. But there's no point in dwelling on it too much. It's done and we should rather go to the Great Hall and see what the others think**.”

The boys acquiesced and quickly made their way to the dining hall. Hermione joined them on the way. They spoke, of course, of the decree in the Common Room and the young woman hastened to second Albus' words, about the parchment, as much as the impossibility that they had been betrayed by one of their own. When they arrived at their table, Albus quickly apologized.

"**I'm going to join Gellert. See you in class?**”

The two boys nodded, but Hermione could not hold back a disapproving pout, and that hurt Albus a little. Of course, Gellert was relatively poorly accepted among the Gryffindors, but every day he managed to break down new barriers and it was obvious that before the end of the year he would become the most popular student in the school. But whatever the German boy did, nothing seemed to soften Hermione's feelings, and she still held a fierce grudge against him. Albus theorized that the tenacity of the students' negative feelings towards Gellert was proportional to their interest in their History of Magic class. And it was no wonder that Hermione, who knew all the details of the Second World War by heart, had the greatest difficulty accepting in her circle of friends none other than Gellert Grindelwald.

“**You can stay with us, if you want!**" she finally suggests. “**You don't have to go with him. We'd be really happy to have you with us.**”

“**No, I'm sorry, I have some things to settle with him. But let me know what you decide about the Defense group.**”

Harry nodded his head and Albus went to join his lover who had isolated himself at a corner of the table.

“**So?**" Gellert asked when he saw him.

“**So, nothing. We were just talking about their idea for the Defense group and how it would work with the order that had just been decreed.**”

“**It's imperative that they keep doing it.**”

“**Yeah, don't worry. Harry's so wound up he's obviously not going to give up now. But what about you?**”

“**What about me? I'm not part of the group.**”

“**No, but your debate group.**”

Gellert fell silent for a moment, thinking about it. He hadn't dwell on it to much as a matter of fact. Largely because he wasn't worried at all. He hadn't spoken to anyone, but he had been religiously nurturing his "followers'” sense of revolt and civil disobedience since the beginning of the year. He was confident. Everyone would be there tonight, and no one was going to question whether it was legal or not.

“**I taught them well,**" Gellert finally conceded with a smile for himself. “**I'm not worried at all.**"

Both boys thought they had cared enough about Umbridge for the day (at least until the evening of their detention, anyway), but they were wrong. When they arrived at their first class of the day, History of Magic, the toad-faced old woman was there as well. She was sitting in a corner of the room, half hidden in the shadows, and her eyes shone with an evil glint that foreshadowed nothing good.

“**What's she doing here?**" asked Harry, who had just entered the room after Gellert.

“**She’s got to be here for the inspection,**” Ron suggested. “**Binns hasn't been evaluated yet.**”

Teacher inspections had been going on all last week without any disruption to the students' lives. In fact, seeing McGonagall bluntly rebuffing the old toad had been quite enjoyable. But Albus could not shake off the unpleasant feeling that something bad was coming. Umbridge seemed far too pleased with herself not to be plotting something.

Tightening the strap of his bag against his shoulder, Albus went to sit in the front row with Hermione, while Ron, Harry, and Gellert sat at the tables by the window to play their quiet hangman's game. A few weeks ago, Gellert had bewitched pieces of scrolls so that they could communicate with each other, and since then he, Ron and Harry had been busy with stupid games in their History and Divination classes. Albus just hoped that his lover's casualness would not get him into more trouble than necessary. But he didn't know yet that the danger came from somewhere else entirely...

The course went relatively smoothly at first. Binns embarked on one of his mind-numbing monotonous lecture, which effectively put three-quarters of the class to sleep. Only Hermione and Albus had the courage to pay the slightest attention to it, but they could not deny that they were dazed by the boredom that emanated from this lesson. But Umbridge interrupted it twenty minutes before the end...

"**Um, um...**"

Binns did not hear her. It was, in fact, always quite difficult to stop him once his lesson had begun, but Umbridge repeated herself, this time louder, and the ghost stopped.

"**Uh... Yes... Uh...**"

There was a moment of silence as Binns stared at the woman who had just interrupted him, visibly lost.

"**Dolores Umbridge,**" finally completed the old toad, “**your colleague, Cuthbert. The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**.”

“**Ah? All right... All right...** "

Umbridge looked unhappy for a moment, but she quickly recovered and her eyes lit up with cruel joy.

"**As you may know, I am currently being commissioned by the Ministry of Magic to evaluate the teaching staff at Hogwarts. So I hope you won't mind if I ask you a question or two.**”

“**Uh... no, of course.**”

“**How long have you worked at Hogwarts?**”

“**Since 1876. That makes... uh...** "

He tried to start counting, but Albus was willing to bet he didn't know what year it was.

“**And why did you want to be a teacher?**" cut in Umbridge, who seemed too eager to carry out her plan to wait for Binns to put his thoughts back in order.

“**Uh... well... the employment security… Not to mention... History of Magic is... uh... fascinating material. It really is.**”

He stopped dead, obviously at the end of his explanations. Umbridge smiled at him and closed her notebook. Albus understood immediately that she was finally going to come to the point that justified her presence here and her happy face.

"**Well, I hope you don't mind me testing your knowledge, to make sure that after all these years you are up to the task of training the generations of tomorrow.**”

“**Uh... yes, of course,**" mumbled a Binns overwhelmed by this impromptu question.

“**In this case, I'd like to propose a random topic on which I'm going to ask you to give a short, pedagogical lecture to pass on your knowledge to this class. Do you feel up to such a task, dear colleague?**”

“**Yes, of course, of course...**”

“**Well... So let's see... What can I ask you... Randomly...**"

The whole class could clearly read from that toad-like face that nothing had been random in all this.

"**If I say to you wizardkind in Europe from 1920 to 1945…**"

Albus felt his throat tighten violently. It was going to be bad. So very bad. He turned to Binns, hoping that the ghost would refuse, but it was obvious that the old teacher had no idea who could be among his students.

"**Well, you can't talk about that time without mentioning the most important name attached to it, that of Gellert Grindelwald.**”

A murmur passed through the classroom. Everyone had suddenly woken up and was hanging on Binns' words, visibly fascinated by the idea of learning more. Umbridge was ecstatic. Albus, on the other hand, turned to Gellert, frightened. Gellert looked back at him, but remained inexpressive. He knew that he was now the object of everyone's attention, and he must have promised himself that he would not let anything show.

“**The first half of the 20th century is a very dark period in wizard history,**" Binns continued. “**Perhaps the darkest of all periods. In 1920, the First World War was still fresh in the minds of witches and wizards, many of whom had died on the hidden fronts. It was then that a figure emerged, using the experience of war and its traumatic memory. Gellert Grindelwald, born in Germany at the end of the 19th century, had already been expelled from Durmstrang for Practice of Dark Magic and Behavior against Morals. Unfortunately, the Institution of Durmstrang burned all documents relating to Grindelwald during the war and it is impossible today to know what really caused this expulsion.**

“**However, in the early years of the 20th century, Grindelwald began to scourge militant and revolutionary networks and quickly became an emblematic figure of a generation opposed to the society in place. Grindelwald developed the ideology that wizards and witches, by the very fact that they were endowed with magic, had a birthright over the Muggle people. The right to control and dominate them. He wanted to overturn the Statute of Secrecy and finally take what he considered to be the rightful place of wizardkind in this world. These words resonated strongly with thousands of witches and wizards who had just suffered deeply from a war that was originally Muggle. Grindelwald used this fear of the other and the Muggle technological progress linked to industrialization to unite behind him a very large community of followers who became his army.**”

Albus took a quick look at Gellert. Gellert looked unaffected, but Albus could read this face well enough to know that he wasn't so. His lover was furious. He saw his words and ideals being disguised by idiots, and he couldn't do anything about it.

"**So the first part of the 20th century is a story of division. The tearing apart of wizarding society right down to its very foundations. On the one hand, there were the opponents of the Statute of Secrecy, hunted throughout the West by the authorities, and on the other hand there were the supporters of the Statute of Secrecy, who lived in fear of seeing the destruction of everything that the wizardkind society had achieved since 1689.**

“**On the other hand, Grindelwald pursued a policy of violence and ferocity. His rallies often ended in unprecedented altercations, leaving hundreds of witch deaths in its wake. Not to mention that after his alliance with Hitler, the well-known Muggle leader of the Nazi movement, Grindelwald began to occupy entire countries. And in those places that had the misfortune to fall under the guardianship of Grindelwald's supporters, life was appalling. The constant threat of imprisonment, torture or death, the automatic elimination of any opponent of the regime in power, the manipulations of Grindelwald to help the Nazis conquer Europe, the involvement of witches and wizards in the setting up of the Muggle death camps, all this shows you what Grindelwald's reign of terror may have looked like. In many ways, wizardkind society was far more dangerous in the time of Grindelwald than in the time of You-Know-Who, be it in terms of conquered territories, scale of repression or number of supporters in favour of the Grindelwaldian regime.**

“**Contemporary historians see in this period the illustration of a spiral of man's madness, entirely turned towards its self-destruction as well as the mutilation of all its human values. 1945 would fortunately see the defeat of the Dark Wizard. Even today, Grindelwald is still in the prisons of Nurmengard, where he used to lock up the few political opponents he let live. No one can visit him, except for a few very rare wizards. He is kept away from the world to avoid recreating the spiral of madness I was telling you about. Afterwards, for more information, I advise you to refer to the documents on pages 251 and 252 of your History of Magic textbook.**”

Without waiting, the students in the room hurriedly took out their belongings and opened their textbooks on the indicated pages. A murmur was born and died almost immediately. Worriedly, Albus pulled out his own book to see what could explain his classmates' dismayed expressions. He understood at once. His gaze did not linger for a second on the texts, but rather was immediately drawn to the photos. They showed historical scenes of the death camps, of the front lines, of the Nurmengard prisons, of an older Grindelwald bewitching his supporters. Suffering and tortured bodies, empty and hollow faces, despair everywhere. These images were breath-taking and screamed war and horror. A heavy and disgusted silence, full of incomprehension and sorrow, settled in the classroom, so much so that several students were startled when Umbridge cleared her throat.

"**Thank you, Professor. It was a most enlightening presentation. On that note, I think that's the end of the hour.**”

And the bell did ring. Yet the room stood still for a few moments, obviously stricken. No one knew what to say or do, and everyone stared at Gellert in horror.

“**Well,**" said Umbridge, "**don't you have any other classes?**”

One after another, the students began to get up, pack up their things and head for the exit, taking great care to stay away from Gellert. Even Ron and Harry left without saying anything, without even a glance. In the end, only Albus, Gellert and Umbridge remained in the classroom. The teacher looked delighted and offered them a cruel smile.

"**I'll see you in detention, children.**”

And with those words, she left the room. There were a few moments of silence, before Albus approached the still-inexpressive silhouette of his lover.

"**Gellert, I wanted...**”

“**Never mind.**”

And with these words, Gellert walked out of the classroom, his bag jammed on his shoulder, his eyes dark and furious.

For the rest of the day, Albus tried to make contact with his lover, but without success. Gellert remained nowhere to be found. And it was probably for the best, added a small voice in the back of Albus' brain. The mood had completely changed in the space of a morning. Word had spread through the corridors and by lunchtime even the First Years had heard about the class. The name Grindelwald was on everyone's lips and whispered so frightfully in their voices that it seemed as if the name alone contained some very dark magic. Shocked at not being able to do anything, Albus sat down with Ron, Harry and Hermione, but he didn't have the strength to stay long, especially when they began to talk about the events of the morning.

“**I never imagined that he could have done all those terrible things,**" exclaimed Ron. “**I mean, I know he's not on the side of the good guys and all, but at this point...**”

“**Does that really surprise you? I've been telling you this ever since we found out he came back.**”

“**Yes, that's right,**" Ron said in reply to Hermione. “**But he seemed so nice. How were we supposed to know he was such a monster?**”

It was with these words that Albus left. He wandered aimlessly through the corridors until it was time for class. He went there with a semblance of hope in his heart, but disillusionment soon followed. Gellert didn't go to class, not even to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Albus would have thought that Umbridge would be happy to give him extra detention for his absence, but she still seemed to be reveling in her victory, and so it was with a smug and proud look on her face that she pointed out to everyone that Gellert wasn't there.

Albus spent the evening meal away from the Great Hall. He could no longer bear the murmurs, the fear and the open history books under the tables. So he took refuge in the library until it was time for his first detention. Even though he went there without joy, he forced himself to go there early. It was his first detention in seven years of schooling. He might have felt some kind of worry, if he wasn't so concerned about his lover. So much so that, even if the atmosphere was not suitable, he was sincerely delighted when he recognized that famous golden hair in front of the corridor leading to Umbridge’s office.

“**Gellert**!" Albus exclaimed in a hurry. “**I've been looking everywhere for you. I know we lost that battle, but everything can be made up for. I've been thinking about a plan to regain...**”

“**Albus. Forget it.**”

“**Forget what? No, you're not going to let Umbridge destroy what you've been building since you got here.**”

“**Listen! I don't care what they think! They don't understand anything. History has understood nothing! They're the idiots, unable to see beyond their narrow view of the world. Why would I want to be loved by idiots? Umbridge did me a favor! I don't care about any of that.**”

Albus knew right away that Gellert was lying. He did care. A lot. But before anything could be said, the office door opened and Umbridge appeared.

"**Please come in.**”

The old toad examined Gellert with exultation, but he simply sat down without saying anything, an unreadable look on his face. Albus followed him and took the second place, taking out his belongings in silence. He was already thinking about what he could do to get his friend out of this situation, even if his help was not wanted.

"**Fine. Mr. Grindelwald, I imagine you know very well what you have to copy. As for you, Mr. Dumbledore, it will be... “I'm not above the others”. Go on, get started.**”

Albus refrained from raising his eyes to the sky. He placed a piece of virgin parchment in front of him and took Umbridge’ long quill between his fingers. He immediately felt the magic crackle under his skin. The spell behind such an artifact was not difficult for a genius like him, so all he had to do was close his eyes and concentrate to dispel it. He did the same with Gellert's quill, and it didn't cost him any effort. At last he opened his eyes again and set to work. It was long and tedious, without any form of intellectual excitement, and Albus let his wrist automatically run over the scroll without devoting any attention to it. The minutes began to slip away. Then the hours. In total indifference. Gellert was bent over his parchment and seemed to be trying to drill a hole in it with his angry look. But he continued to write without stopping for a moment. He must obviously have sensed that the quill’s spell wasn't working, but Albus wasn't sure he'd really noticed. However, Umbridge noticed it. When at the end of the detention, she asked Albus to come closer to see the state of his hand, she stood for a moment in awe of the boy's absolutely unmarked skin.

"**But... but... what about the spell?**”

“**What spell?**" Albus asked, feigning ignorance.

“**The quill...**”

“**Oh? Was that supposed to do something to my hand? You should've told me, then I could've pointed out earlier that something seemed to be wrong.**”

Umbridge leapt up and went to see Gellert's hand, just as intact.

"**What have you done?**”

“**Nothing,**" Albus shrugged. “**At least, nothing that you have proof of.**”

Umbridge seemed stunned for a moment and her big toad face became slack with anger.

"**You! You have bewitched my quill!**”

“**You won't find a single ounce of magic in that feather. Not a trace of a spell.**”

“**Hand me your wand! At once.**”

Albus obeyed with docility, knowing full well what was going to happen.

"**Priori Incantatem!**”

Albus' black wand crackled but revealed only a simple Wingardium Leviosa that he had used in the library to retrieve a book placed too high.

"**I know it was you! I know it was…**”

She choked on her own words, but Albus remained unflappable.

"**If you want me to keep doing lines, fine. I didn't have anything else planned for this evening anyway.**”

“**Get out of here! Now!**”

This time, Albus didn't ask for anything. He was too wise to take any more chances. He'd won one victory, that was more than enough for now. He left the room quickly, followed by Gellert. His lover began to pass him, probably to disappear without a word, but Albus grabbed him by the shoulder.

"**Gellert, please, listen to me!**”

“**What, Albus.**”

The German boy had sighed, visibly exasperated and in a hurry to be left alone, and this hurt Albus deeply. He knew, however, that Gellert was going through something complicated, and that it was wrong to make everything revolve around his little self, but Albus couldn't help it. Seeing Gellert move away hurt him viscerally. Especially now. He acted as if nothing had happened, but every time he blinked, he saw his sister's corpse, every time he took a deep breath, he felt the pressure of his magic when he had attacked Travers, every time he got a little too lost in his thoughts, he was at pains to dwell on each of his choices. Albus said nothing, but he wasn't well. At all.

"**Stay with me.**”

“**I have other things to do, Albus. I'll see you later.**”

“**You can't do that! You can't come back, only to leave the next second. You can't run to me when it suits you, then turn me away the second I get in the way. Look, I know what happened this morning... it complicated a lot of things. And I know you must be mad and overwhelmed and confused and upset. But we're in this together. We're in all the drama together. And not when it suits you. We've been through time together, we've defied all the laws together. We've lied, cheated, disguised ourselves together. So, now that it's all done, now that there's no turning back, don't you dare walk away from me.**”

Gellert observed Albus for a moment. He observed his straight and proud face, which exuded a strange mixture of confidence and doubt, strength and injury. Gellert had always been alone. Always. He had been born into a Muggle family - or almost a Muggle family - that violently repressed everything he was. He had played with children who were unable to follow his ideas. He had gone to a martial school that shared none of his values, with comrades who had gone from insignificant strangers to uninteresting puppets. No one had ever shared his visions, no one had ever understood what he really meant, what really motivated him. No one had even been able to touch Gellert's tumultuous feelings, his great inadequacy with the rest of the world. Then he had known Albus. And he had felt that he was understood. But what had happened this morning made him doubt that now... Even history had been unable to follow him, to embrace his ideas and his dreams. And just one little tirade of nothing at all, of a stupid and boring ghost, had managed to turn everyone away from him. Maybe he was simply meant to be alone.

"**Sorry, Albus. I've got stuff to do. I'll see you later.**”

And he left. He couldn't bear the look of horrified betrayal that had just been painted on the features he loved so much. But there was nothing he could do about it. He needed to be alone. That was always what he did best, obviously. Slowly, he descended into the dungeons, ignoring everything else. From the beginning, this school hadn't understood him. He was a freak to the others. Just as he had been at Durmstrang... Just good at entertaining others by standing up to the teachers and authority without anyone bothering to realize how well-founded his revolt was. So it was quite obvious that a similar group, attracted only by the glitter, could be confused with a snap of the finger.

And to think that he had had the audacity to believe that he had followers here...

Gellert stopped dead in his tracks.

Without even realizing it, his footsteps had carried him to that old, remote dungeon room where he was holding his debate group. He probably subconsciously imagined that he could be alone with his thoughts, there... But now he was standing in front of a crowded room. All the regulars, all the souls he had gathered over the past few months, had joined him there and were visibly waiting for him with infinite patience.

"**We weren't sure you'd come,**" said Hannah Abbott, from the front row.

“**I had... I had detention... but what are you all doing here?**”

“**Well, we had planned a meeting last week,**" stressed a Seventh Year Slytherin in the obvious tone.

“**You didn't think the ridiculous education decree was going to stop us from coming!**”

“**Yeah! Even if it's against the law, I'll keep going! What we do here is more important than Umbridge will ever be able to understand!**”

Gellert looked at them all, taken aback. He had spent his afternoon running away from the murmurs and sideways glances, escaping the fear he inspired, and his followers had still come back to him!

His followers...

“**What are you waiting for?**" he finally asked, after taking the time to process all this information.

“**We want you to explain your plan,**" Hannah explained. “**Not the one of that Dark Wizard from 1940. Yours. What do you want to do? What's your ideology?**”

Gellert took in the room with in one glance. Yes. Perhaps. Perhaps, after all, instead of asking others to understand him, he might try to explain.

Slowly, he walked to one of the few chairs that were still free and sat down in it. Each of the other students took a seat and all turned to him, listening.

"**In simple, unequivocal words... I want to destroy the Statue of Secrecy. But not out of domination. Not out of lust for power. But out of justice. No one should have to hide what he or she is. For any reason. There has always been an oppressive majority and an oppressed minority. And our entire society has been built around these injustices of a violence that is still impossible to quantify today. Be born a woman, and you will suffer. Be born black, and you will suffer. Be born handicapped, and you will suffer. Be born a homosexual, and you will suffer... Be born a wizard or a witch...**

**“I'm convinced that magic is a wonderful thing more worthy of pride than fear, but that's not the point. The point is that nothing and no one should have the right to condemn us from birth. But, if you are born a sorcerer, you are condemned to secrecy. Break that secret, and you are condemned to prison. Rebel against this system, and History will condemn you. But I don't care. I don't care what History remembers. I don't care what bars they put up around me to hold me down. I don't care about the slanders, the betrayals, the lies, the attacks. All I care about is… I only care to live freely. I only care to live justly. I only care to live as an equal. Whatever obstacles stand in my way, I promise you, I will tear this rotten, violent, oppressive system down to its very foundations. I will free wizardkind. I will bring each and every one of you out of the shadows. I'll take you by the hand, one by one, and you will come out of your chains. And to do that, to break the chains… I must break the cycle of secrecy.**”

A long silence followed this tirade. Everyone greeted the last words with attention, their unfathomable faces, their concentrated airs. Then Hannah stood up.

"**I want to come out of the shadows. I will help you.**”

“**I want to help you, too. Let's break the secrecy!**”

“**Let's break the secrecy! Let's live freely!**”

Voices, slogans, shouts burst out all around Gellert, intoxicating him with their power, carrying him to peaks he had not yet explored. One by one, his comrades rose to their feet, their foreheads full of dreams and desires, their eyes overflowing with conviction, their cheeks red with willpower. They all cheered and welcomed him. But more than that, they seized his ideology as if it had been theirs all along. As if it was now a part of them. Or that they were a part of it. At that moment, exhilarated by this timeless event he was experiencing, Gellert wondered for a second if it was this uninhibiting and emotional exhilaration that had made his alter-ego lose his sense of reality. Then his name was chanted and he forgot all about it.

When he returned to the dormitories around two in the morning, he was drunk with dreams and powers. Without the slightest concern for the rest of the boys, he crawled into Albus' bed and took him in his arms. Albus opened his sleepy eyes.

"**Gellert? What in the world...?”**

**“Shh... you were right... we're in this together. And we're going to lead it, this Revolution. Together. Oh, Albus, how glorious we will be.**”


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> Voilà the new chapter. I think I will be able to post once every two weeks for some time.  
Once again, I would like to thank my beta reader, HowDoTheyRiseUp, for her amazing work at making my fic readible. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it.

**CHAPITRE 10 :**

There were a few short knocks on the door.

Albus Dumbledore, looking up at the long coded scroll he was reading of Hagrid's situation and his imminent return, remained for a moment pensive. He had no visitors planned and wondered what he was being interrupted for so late. However, he had always made a point of making himself available to the members of his school, so, ignoring the clock which indicated that it was very early in the morning, he called that the person outside could enter. The door opened timidly, giving way to his alter-ego.

The young Albus might have looked perfectly normal, but Dumbledore's expert and accustomed eye taught him otherwise. His young friend was anxious, and he seemed to wonder at every moment whether coming here had not been a monumental mistake. Dumbledore was no more surprised than what reason deemed necessary. In fact, if he hadn’t known for certain whether Albus would try to contact him again after Hogsmeade, he had hoped with all his heart that he would. He could imagine all too clearly how his alter-ego might feel, and he could only pray that he would not have to go through this alone. Of course, the old headmaster knew that Gellert would be there, but however much he loved the German man with all the vigour he was capable of, he doubted his ability to have sincere empathy and patience for anything to do with feelings. He was not in the least convinced that Gellert was really capable of helping Albus.

"**Please,**" he finally said, "**come in and sit down.**"

Albus glanced over his shoulder, as if contemplating the idea of going back to where he’d come from, then finally he decided to take a step forward and go to the chair facing the headmaster’s desk.

"**What are you doing up so late, Albus?**”

“**I... I had a nightmare, and I couldn't get back to sleep. I thought... I could use a walk.**”

“**I'm glad to see your footsteps have brought you this far.**”

Albus didn't answer. He seemed lost in contemplation of the many strange and peculiar objects that adorned the office, but Dumbledore was perfectly capable of seeing that his alter-ego was actually only interested in the idea of occupying his gaze and thus not having to meet anyone's eyes.

"**Was it about Ariana? That nightmare.**”

Again, there was no answer to this question. But the torment in Albus' eyes was more than enough to understand the situation. Dumbledore had the impression that his young counterpart had aged terribly in the space of only a few months. There was now a painful lassitude on his face which darkened his fine, soft features, and only the doubts in his eyes retained a youthful glow.

"**Do you... do you now know who cast the spell? Who k... who cast the spell?**”

**“Yes, I know who did.**”

“**Who was it?**”

The young man's voice was charged with a vibrant, almost desperate emotion. But Dumbledore remained adamant. He knew that no answer could bring even a semblance of peace. On the contrary, only a torment of other questions and doubts awaited him, if by any chance he continued to lose himself on this road.

"**Does it really matter?**”

“**It does!**”

“**No. It makes absolutely no difference. Would you feel less guilty if you knew that Gellert had cast the spell?**”

Albus looked down, his answer too obvious to pronounce. Dumbledore could not help but be moved by the sight. He wished he could have relieved his alter-ego's pain. But it was far beyond his powers. And it pained him deeply, much to his surprise. To tell the truth, Dumbledore, since he'd reached adulthood, had always had some problems with self-hatred. Too much guilt, too many mistakes, too much remorse. For many reasons, he was often genuinely disgusted with himself. That was why, when Albus and Gellert had reappeared, he had stayed away from his alter-ego. He had not bothered to visit him in prison, preferring the brief but intense meeting with Gellert. Then he had taken an imperious pleasure in thwarting the attempts of approach and disappointing his young self’s ambitious and self-centered expectations. But the more time had passed, the more he had felt a form of tenderness being born in him, towards Albus. In the end, punishing himself was no longer attractive to him, and he would have liked to spare this young soul from all the torments that awaited him.

“**You've decided to forgive him?**" he finally resumed, after a long silence.

“**Gellert? Yes. It's not him I blame. What I don't understand is, why did we fight in the first place? It doesn't make any sense.**”

Throughout his long life, Dumbledore had always been a great believer in cryptic answers that only raised more questions than they solved. But it was late, and his counterpart seemed to have spent the last few days torturing his mind, so for once he explained things as they were, knowing that any other attitude would only bring suffering.

"**As the summer progressed, our plans became more and more precise and pressing. Gellert wanted to leave. He wanted to start his Revolution. Godric's Hollow was just too... lethargic for him. I had a feeling, as August went on, that staying here was making him more and more unhappy. He wanted us to leave together. Of course, Ariana was keeping me here. But the idea of leaving with him was so... intoxicating, that I let myself get carried away nevertheless, voluntarily forgetting that all this was a fantasy that no circumstance could make true.**

“**And as we approached the end of the summer, I think Gellert began to feel it. To feel that I wouldn't leave. That I was doomed to stay at Godric's Hollow for as long as my family needed me. I think he saw that as a profound betrayal. He didn't say anything about it at first, but it was slowly eating away at him, and everything that seemed brilliant to us before started to get bitter and rotten. Eventually the tension had reached a point where it could only be dissipated by the explosion.**

“**It was the last afternoon before September. We were in the living room, talking about our imminent departure, when Aberforth interrupted us. He caught us talking about the idea of taking Ariana with us, and he went mad with worry and rage. With his limited vocabulary but impeccable reason, he pointed out the full extent of our idiocy. Now, you know how Gellert responds badly to those who oppose him. Not to mention that Aberforth had always had a talent for getting under Gellert’s skin with remarkable efficiency and speed. And this particular project was more important to Gellert than any other. Might as well tell you that it didn't take long for them to pull out their wands. Gellert attacked Aberforth. I was forced to defend him. My brother wouldn't stand a chance against him. It quickly turned into a three-way duel.**

“**Gellert... in a fit of anger, no doubt... said some things. Things that hurt me deeply. He obviously knew where to strike to destroy me. And soon, our duel lost all measure. And when it was finally over, Ariana was dead.**”

Albus fluttered his eyelids several times, as if to push his feelings back into the back of his mind, but it was in a broken voice that he picked up again.

"**He did say things that hurt you deeply?**”

“**Yes, he did.**”

“**What were they?**”

“**You don't want to hear them.**”

Dumbledore saw Albus lower his eyes to his hands, and knew at once that his young mind could easily imagine what had been said a century before. The silence in the office became heavy and painful, but there was nothing the old headmaster could do about it. Once again he had to suppress his impulse to do something to ease Albus' pain. The most important - and most painful - lesson that Dumbledore was fortunate and unlucky enough to learn in 114 years was that even he could sometimes remain completely and irretrievably helpless. So he contented himself with welcoming silence, letting it modestly cover the sorrows that filled this room. He could do nothing, but he could be there. And wait. Wait for Albus to need him. And that need finally came after long minutes, in a form so painful and so complex that Dumbledore, for a second, regretted even his involvement.

"**Did he ever love me? I mean, sincerely.**”

This question had tortured him for years and years. It had robbed him of whole nights of waking, and days of nightmares. It had haunted his thoughts to their very roots, corrupting everything good he had ever known, corrupting his memories into perpetual reminders of his suffering. In other words, it had ended his youth, while preventing him from growing up. And now, the too young and innocent face of his alter-ego was turned towards him, his eyes at the edge of the point of no return, his lips full with this haunting question.

"**I... don't think Gellert is capable of feeling love the way you and I feel it.**”

“**So he was using me... From the beginning...**”

“**I don't think it's that simple either. I think you bring a lot to him, Albus. And it's essential that you keep that in mind. I also think he has a form of respect for you, a respect he has for absolutely nothing else on this earth. I think you impress him, I think you inspire him, I think you elevate him. And that he has a tenderness for you that he probably doesn't think he's capable of. I think that the feelings he has for you are, of all those he's capable of feeling, the closest to love... But I also think that Gellert is a deeply damaged individual. I think the suffering and hardship he went through at far too young an age has irreparably destroyed something in him. But the burden that strengthened and darkened his soul also developed that over-sensitivity to the problems of the world that led him on the path we know. I think that deep down, Gellert is a revolutionary rebel who would put his ideology and his fight above anything else. Gellert is willing to sacrifice his life in the blink of an eye for his ideas. He's also willing to sacrifice you. Whatever his feelings, which I know to be deep and sincere, for you...**”

“**So he loves me?**”

“**As much as he can.**”

“**But he's dangerous to me...**”

“**Undoubtedly.**”

Albus bit his lip, and Dumbledore knew immediately that the boy was hesitant to tell him one last thing that must have been of great concern to him. So the old headmaster kept silent, knowing that time was on his side, and that he now had to remain confident that his alter-ego would eventually open up to him. And, although it took a few minutes, it happened.

"**I'd like to meet Gellert. I mean your Gellert. The one who's in prison. I... I need to see him. To talk to him. To understand.**”

“**All right.**”

Albus looked up at him, astounded. Obviously, he’d had no expectation of a positive response. Surely he must have had difficulty imagining why such access would be granted to him.

"**Really?**”

“**Yes. But not right away.**”

“**You have to arrange such a meeting.**”

“**No, actually I don’t. The spells that guard Nurmengard are mine, and I will come and go as I please. No, I don't want to take you there right away, because you're still too much under Gellert's influence. If I take you there, you'll only be serving his interests. You'll probably ask him questions about the Hallows. But that's not what you really need to know. So, later, when you're ready, when you've grown up, and most importantly, when you understand yourself a little better, I'll take you to see Gellert, not before.**”

Dumbledore did not mention the fact that Albus would obviously go to Grindelwald on his own. For the simple reason that Dumbledore would probably already be dead when the time came. He didn't have so long to live, after all, if his impressions and instincts about what was to come next were to be believed. He would have to leave before the end, and he was not sure that Albus would be able to bear such a visit in the near future. However, Dumbledore kept this thought to himself. No one knew yet, not even the actors who were going to play a key role in all this. He trusted his alter-ego, but life had taught him that secrets were best kept by one person. So he shut up and was almost surprised when Albus' words rang out in the office.

"**I'm afraid he'll go back to the way he was before. I mean, like _your_ Gellert.**”

Immediately Dumbledore's previous thoughts were dispelled and he concentrated entirely on what had just been said. Such a statement was not to be treated lightly. At the risk of a Third World War.

"**What makes you say that?**”

“**Earlier, Gellert returned to the dormitories in an odd state. I'd never seen him like that before. He seemed... drunk. When I asked him about it, he just said he'd found his true supporters. I think he went to his debate group, and they must have reacted favourably. I think they must have promised to go along with him, in spite of Umbridge’s actions this morning. But the sparkle in his eyes... I'd never seen it before. He seemed ready for anything.**”

“**That's... disturbing, yes.**”

Dumbledore knew that Albus knew Gellert well enough to take his impressions with the utmost seriousness. If Albus said that there was something strange about Gellert, to the point that he felt bad enough to tell a third party, it must have been startling.

"**I know you're going to tell me to stay away from him, but...**”

“**No, I certainly won't.**”

“**What?**"

Albus seemed stunned. It was obvious that he had prepared a real little argument ready to use, and that he was now confused about not having to use it.

"**I thought you were going to tell me to protect myself.**”

“**My goal is not only to help you but to help you both. Now, if what you're saying is true, which I don't doubt for a second, then Gellert is in great danger. He needs your help.**”

“**Well, what can I do?**”

“**Do what I didn’t do before. Stay by his side to help and guide him. Until now, your love for him has blinded you to the point where you end up following him no matter how you feel deep down. Now, if you really love Gellert, you need to open your eyes and be there to watch over him. To protect Gellert from himself. He doesn't know it, but he needs you, Albus.**”

Dumbledore didn't react in any way when Albus leapt up and took a decisive and determined step towards the exit. The old man trusted the young one. He knew everything would turn out all right in the end.

***

"**Gellert? Gellert, it's me.**”

The whispering had been scarcely louder than a breeze in the night, but Neville, vaguely drowsy, preoccupied with his Potion essay for which he had got a T, was nonetheless drawn out of his dreams. He immediately recognized Albus' voice. Perhaps tomorrow he could ask him for a little help for their next assignment.

"**What's the matter?**”

“**I've been thinking about what you said earlier. I'm sorry I overreacted. But after what happened this morning...**”

“**I get it. Don't apologize.**”

Neville turned his head a little. He wondered for a moment what could justify a discussion at three o'clock in the morning, but when he saw Albus sitting on the edge of Gellert's bed, he noticed that the two boys didn't look tired.

"**Yes, I do. I reacted badly. Look... it's just that there's a lot going on right now. And, for a moment there, I forget the essential.**”

Gellert had straightened up on his bed and Neville hesitated for a moment to let the two boys know that he was awake. Their conversation seemed intimate, and Neville didn't want to spy. On the other hand, their words seemed important and Neville didn't want to interrupt them. He resolved not to say anything, leaving them in peace, even if it meant forgetting everything that had been said tomorrow.

"**What's essential?**”

“**You.**”

And Neville didn't immediately understand why Albus was leaning over Gellert's face like that. But it was when Gellert put his arms around the other boy that he finally understood.

Oh.

"**I'll help you, Gellert. For the Revolution, for the Hallows, for the future, for everything. On one condition.**”

“**What condition?**”

“**That you remember that this is now our Revolution, our Hallows and our future.**”

Oh.

***

Unlike the others, Albus was in no way surprised when, on Wednesday evening, he entered the Room of Requirement. He had heard of it before, and in seven years of wandering the halls of Hogwarts he had even seen it once or twice. It was a mysterious room worthy of interest, but at the time Albus had felt he had other ways of occupying his time. And he still did.

So he let the other members of the group pass in front of him while he stayed a bit behind, massaging his wrist. His victory over Umbridge the night before hadn't relieved him of any detention. The old toad had tried to give him some new quills, but he had de-bewitched them all with a simple touch of his fingertips, and she had had to give up, and only had him copy some pitiful lines which had the advantage of remaining wisely on the parchment and nowhere else.

"**Glad you could make it, Albus.**”

The mentioned man turned around to see Harry behind his back. He had also detached himself from the group of amazed students to come and see him a little apart.

"**I wasn't sure you could. With your detentions and all.**”

“**Umbridge let me go in time. She obviously has no idea what's going on tonight.**”

“**Good... Good...** "

Harry, though obviously excited, seemed a little nervous. Albus had noticed very quickly, since the summer he had spent in Grimmauld Place, that the Boy-Who-Lived was a rather introverted person who, although solid in his opinions and ready to fight, was not particularly at ease under too much attention. Quite the opposite of him and Gellert. But there was something profoundly refreshing about it.

"**Anxious?**”

“**What?**”

“**For your first class. Anxious?**”

“**Yes. A little bit, yeah. I'm still not sure I understand why all these people came to listen to me.**”

“**I mean, you did fight Voldemort and survive...**”

“**Yeah, but every time it was luck. Actually, I don't really know that many spells. Hermione knows things on the NEWT level, I don't.**”

“**I might have an idea...**"

Albus pretended to think strongly about something, as if an epiphany had just struck him. In reality, he and Gellert had talked about it a few minutes before he went to the meeting. After all, it was essential to their plans that Voldemort disappear, so they had figured that helping the boy could only benefit them.

"**What are you thinking about?**”

“**Well, I thought maybe I could help you a little. I don't want to teach this group, but I'm willing to train you. I happen to be a reasonably gifted duelist. And I only say "reasonably" to be almost untruthfully modest. I think I can teach you a couple of useful things. You will teach others spells and techniques that can save their lives. And I can teach you principles and knowledge that you can use to defeat Voldemort when the time comes.**”

Harry seemed overwhelmed by his words. Albus had soon realized that the boy was desperate to play an ever-more-active role in the war, and he knew that stimulating him by talking about fighting Voldemort was the right thing to do.

"**Would you do that?**”

“**Of course I would do that. I want to see Voldemort disappear as much as you do.**”

“**What about Hermione and Ron, can they come?**”

Albus hesitated for a moment. But in the end, if all three were destined to face Voldemort, they might as well prepare for it together.

"**Yes. But no one else.**”

“**Why is there no one else? Why not the whole group?**”

“**Because it will be up to you to end this war. Not them. I need to focus on you.**”

Harry nodded his head, his eyes shining with determination.

"**Well, I'm going to tell Ron and Hermione. I'll see you at the end, okay? In the meantime, class is about to start.**”

Harry sank into the group and soon all attention was turned to him.

"**Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and, er... What, Hermione?**”

Hermione had just raised her hand so suddenly that she startled her neighbours. Using the same discipline and attention she did in class must have baffled Harry, who never imagined that one day someone would raise their hand to ask him to speak.

"**I think we ought to elect a leader.**”

Yes, Albus thought, that was a good idea. After all, Harry was, of course, the unofficial leader of the group, but it was high time to formalize this position, so that he could enjoy assured authority. The votes went quickly, and everyone chose Harry, not surprisingly. But Hermione was obviously not finished and raised her hand.

"**I also think we ought to have a name. It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?**”

“**Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?**”

“**Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?**”

“**I was thinking more of a name that didn’t tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.**”

“**The Defense Association?**” proposed the beautiful Ravenclaw, whose name Albus had forgotten but who he was sure Harry had a huge crush on. “**The D.A, for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about**.”

“**Yeah**,” Ron's little sister continued, "**the D.A.’s good. Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?**”

Albus did not share the general hilarity. He had promised not to interfere, but the idea was too bad to keep him quiet.

"**I deeply disapprove. I think we couldn't have a worse name.**”

“**Why?**" asked a little boy from Gryffindor. “**It's funny, I think.**”

“**Maybe, but the joke will be much less funny when it is discovered by Umbridge. It will then become a charge against Dumbledore and could cause his dismissal if the Ministry thinks he had anything to do with this army that bears his name.**”

“**If Umbridge ever finds out about this group, I think the headmaster will be the least of our worries,**" one of the twins shrugged. “**We'll all be expelled anyway.**”

“**And then,**" Harry cut in, more seriously, "**if we're ever found out, I'll tell the whole truth. I'll say I'm in charge. I won't let Dumbledore go down for me. They'll be happy enough to expel me that they’ll leave Dumbledore alone.**”

Albus had big doubts about this. Harry could sometimes show intelligence, but more often than not he was handicapped by a lack of foresight and major strategy. Did he honestly believe that Dumbledore would not sacrifice himself the second Harry was in danger? Did he really believe that the Ministry would not a hundred times rather see the old, unflappable headmaster thrown out than a lazy, helpless student?

“**I propose we take a vote!**" exclaimed Hermione.

Albus was the only one to vote against Dumbledore's Army and he had to hold back his dismay when his name was written in large letters on the head of the parchment with their signatures on it.

"**Right. Shall we get practicing then?**”

And the signal for the beginning of the course was given. Albus didn't learn much. After all, he had learned the Expelliarmus with his father's wand when he was only six years old. Today, he was able to do it without words or a wand, and didn't feel like demonstrating it. However, apart from Harry, the group was an even number of people, and Albus found himself having to get together with the one everyone avoided for the practical work: Neville Longbottom. The boy seemed very nervous the second he realized he had to work with Albus. He guessed that it had to do with his own level of magic. Albus knew he was impressive and it was not surprising that someone was apprehensive about a confrontation with him. But he had no intention of fighting, and he said so immediately.

"**Listen, Neville. I'm familiar with the spell of Expelliarmus. So I propose that you be the only one to try it against me. And I'll try to avoid it physically. I've never been very good with my body, so it'll be good practice.**”

This proposal did not seem to dispel Neville's unease and Albus wondered for a moment if perhaps the cause was elsewhere. But the boy finally nodded his head and Albus considered that it didn't really matter. The rest of the training went off without a hitch. Neville wasn't a great genius, but it was obvious that he was trying his best. At least when he didn't let himself be too disturbed by Albus' presence. All in all, in the space of a single session, he had already improved a great deal, although still not in the most glorious way. Nevertheless, it was obvious that Neville would flourish in such a group and that he would eventually become a wizard of impressive calibre.

Finally, the session ended shortly after nine o'clock, and once they had decided on a next appointment that respected everyone's Quidditch schedule, the room began to empty. Soon Harry, Ron and Hermione joined Albus when it was just the four of them.

“**Harry told us,**" Hermione began, "**do you really want to train us?**”

“**I suggest you do, it's up to you whether you want to or not.**”

“**If we want to?**" Ron exclaimed. “**Of course we do! You must know so many powerful spells of the kind that can kill Death Eaters in one go! I want to know the same things.**”

“**A duel is never about one spell. It's a succession of actions, reactions, thoughts and reflexes that gradually lead us to victory. And these actions, reactions, thoughts and reflexes, they can be trained.**”

“**What's on your mind?**" Harry asked, just as enthusiastic as the other two.

“**First of all, I have to make sure that you have the level to receive my knowledge. So I'm offering you a test. I won't start teaching you a new spell until you succeed in disarming me. If you succeed, even just once, then I'll start teaching you real fighting spells. Not before.**”

“**Okay, I'm willing to try!**”

This time, a new and fierce determination shone in the eyes of the Gryffindors trio. They were ready to fight. Good, Albus thought. They were going to face a lot of discouragement in their training with him, it was a good thing if they begin with a dose of willpower in reserve.

“**Who do you want to fight first?**" Hermione finally asked.

“**The three of you. What?**" he asked in front of their incredulous faces. “**Do you really think I was so sadistic as to ask you to go one by one? I really want you to have a hope of success, you know.**”

“**Perfect!**" Ron exclaimed with a delighted smile. “**Underestimating us will be your first mistake.**”

The three Gryffindors soon realized that Albus had not underestimated them in any way. Placed in a circle around him, they had thrown themselves into battle with ferocious fury, spell upon spell at full speed, sending myriads of lights and sparks bursting on Dumbledore's defences. And the worst part was that it wasn't even as if Albus had created a shield so powerful as to be impervious to it. No, he'd obviously decided to take on a bit of a challenge, and he was having fun creating his protection and counter-spells at the last moment, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione hoping for victory before it was snatched from them before their very eyes. But, all in all, that wasn't even the worst of it. It was that, throughout the duel, not for a moment did Albus pull out his wand or whisper a word. He remained calm and impassive in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, and his bluish magic swirling around him like a monster of power and strength. Harry may have multiplied his spells and his speed, Hermione may have used the most complex forms of magic she knew, Ron may have done his best to distract Albus from his two friends, but nothing helped. Not for a moment did their enemy even seem to care about anything.

Harry couldn't help noticing that Albus give off a sense of power that could easily rival Voldemort's. He could feel those forces in his heart, and it was a feeling that he could not help but be aware of. But still, there was a great difference between the two wizards. Voldemort had managed to subdue the magical arts like no one before him. Albus, on the other hand, seemed in no way to dominate them. It was as if magic had gained a consciousness of its own to protect the one it recognized as one of its own. When Voldemort had obviously enjoyed breaking every rule of his art, Albus had learned to play with them so that they would always meet his needs perfectly. And in this, Harry had the distinct impression that, perhaps, Albus was more powerful than Voldemort.

From his thoughts Harry noticed that Albus raised his arm and snapped his fingers quickly. Immediately, the ground under their feet began to shake ferociously, and Harry, like his two friends, fell face first, off balance. As soon as he was on the ground, the ground moved around him, and strangely lifted itself up and swallowed him up, until he was half buried under the stone, unable to move at all.

"**Well**," Albus smiled. “**I think that's enough for today.**”

He let a few seconds pass, probably to prove his point, then, with a circular gesture of his hand, he ordered the ground to let go of its poor victims. Harry took his time to pick up his wand and straighten up. He was completely exhausted and a great sense of emptiness had taken hold of him. His muscles were shaking from the abuse and a headache was becoming to make itself be feel. Ron and Hermione didn't look any better. Albus, on the other hand, as fit of a fiddle, was not out of breath in the least. His clothes were wrinkle-free and his back was straight and proud, victorious.

“**We'll never be able to beat you,**" Ron mumbled, disappointed.

“**I strongly advise you to rethink your strategy and come to the next session with a slightly more elaborate plan than just throwing in my face the spells I mastered before I came to Hogwarts. I also encourage you to analyse how I fight to exploit the weak points. An important part of the art of dueling is always being able to adapt to your opponent's fighting style.**”

“**But you don't fight! You're just sweeping away all our attempts with a wave of your hand! Why don't we send you to fight Voldemort? You'd destroy him in two seconds!**”

Albus squinted his eyes. Ron had a point. He wasn't sure he could beat Voldemort, but if he went with Gellert, how could the Dark Lord have any chance? Why hadn't Dumbledore sent them sooner if the solution was so simple? It was something he was going to have to ask him, but something told him the old fool wasn't going to settle for a clear answer on the topic.

“**In any case,**" Albus said again to refocus his pupils. “**Don't lose sight of the fact that I'm not asking you to beat me at all, only to disarm me. I'm sure you'll do better next time.**”

“**You're right. We'll get there eventually, the three of us.**”

“**I'm looking forward to it.**”

Harry was obviously the most motivated of the group and his commitment was a pleasure to see. Albus was increasingly convinced of Harry's unwavering legitimacy as head of the D.A. This boy and this group would go far, no doubt.

"**Well, we'd better get back,**" Hermione finally said. “**It's very late, and if we're seen in the halls at this hour, we'll be in trouble.**”

“**Yes, you're right. I'll check the map and see if there's anyone around.**”

“**The map?**”

Harry took out of his pocket an old piece of virgin parchment that Albus sensed vibrated with magic.

"**The Marauder's Map. It's a map of Hogwarts that shows the location of every student and teacher. Very handy, when you want to sneak in without being seen. Look, you can see that Umbridge is in her room. And Filch... Filch’s in the dungeons with Mrs Norris. It's all clear.**”

“**That's... fascinating! It really is! Where did you find such a map?**”

“**It was Fred and George who found it in Filch's office. But it was my father and his friends who created it.**”

Albus was so immersed in contemplating this magical artifact of great curiosity that he almost missed the rest of Harry's remark.

"**This time it will be all right. But for the next few sessions, I suggest we use the cloak to get back to the dorms.**”

“**The cloak?**" Albus asked without understanding.

“**Yes. My cloak of invisibility.**”

***

"**Gellert, hurry up!**”

“**I'm trying, but I can't find it. I've tested the floorboards, the inside of the mattress, the lining of the canopies, I've cast Revelio spells everywhere, but there’s nothing.**”

“**Did you try looking in his suitcase?**”

“**As if he could be dumb enough to keep a Deathly Hallow in a suitcase that anyone could rummage through.**”

“**I'm not sure he really knows the value of that cloak. Look in the suitcase.**”

“**Okay, okay...** "

Gellert put the slats of the box spring back in their place and walked towards Harry's half-open suitcase. Meanwhile, Albus, in the doorway of the bunkhouse door, made sure no one came in their direction. It was still early, and all had gone to eat, so there was little risk, but keeping watch had always made him nervous. He was so preoccupied with his task that he did not immediately realize the heavy silence that had fallen in the dormitories.

"**Gellert? Did you find anything?**”

No response came. Albus took one last anxious look down the corridor and decided to go and see what it was all about. He closed the door behind him and turned his attention to his lover.

Gellert was crouching over Harry's suitcase. His eyes were wide open and veiled as he held a strange cloth in his hand that seemed exceptionally soft and liquid. Albus, who could hardly believe all this, approached a few hesitant steps.

"**It's... it's it, then? Is this the Hallow?**”

For an answer, Gellert leapt up and wrapped himself in the cape, disappearing at once. When he reappeared again, he himself didn't seem to believe what he had in his hands. Albus took the few steps that still separated them and touched the cape with his fingertips. Yes, he was convinced the second his skin came into contact with the object. It pulsed with a magic he had never seen before.

"**It is the Hallow. This is the Deathly Hallow.**”

“**This moron... kept a Deathly Hallow... in his suitcase?!**”

Albus could fully understand Gellert's bewilderment. They had both spent a month plotting how to find his Hallows, developing whimsical plans while knowing in their hearts that it was probably all just a legend. And finally they stumbled upon their first Hallow, by chance, in the unsealed suitcase of a teenager who was totally ignorant of the value of the object.

“**We have to take it!**" Gellert said as soon as he had regained his composure.

“**We can't. I've talked about it a little with him, it's the last memory he has of his father.**”

“**We can't leave it to him! He's hiding it in his suitcase! Besides, he doesn't care about the Hallows. We deserve that cloak more than he does!**”

“**Yeah, but he just told me about it. If it disappears now, he'll blame me immediately.**”

“**Well, let's make sure it doesn't disappear. Let's just replace it with another cloak. We make a knockoff, we keep the real cloak, and he'll settle for the fake one as long as it does the job.**”

“**He'll figure it out.**”

“**He's been carrying around for what... months? Years? ...a Deathly Hallow, and he hasn't thought for a second about its real value. He wouldn't be able to tell it from any other cloak. Besides, we're going to do that properly. We're not going to give him the first bewitched cloth we make. We're going to make him a really great cloak. As good as the original.**”

Albus had some doubts in his heart, but no argument to express them. He wanted that cloak. Or rather, he wanted Gellert to have it. He had a strange feeling that the Hallows were due to them somehow.

"**All right, all right. We'll make a counterfeit. But in the meantime, put that cloak back where you found it. Don't let Harry get suspicious of me for anything. I'm beginning to have a real bond of trust with him.**”

“**The training pays off.**”

“**It will. And put that cloak away.**”

Reluctantly, Gellert discarded his property and closed the suitcase with a sorrowful look on his face.

"**Well, let's eat. And let's watch our step. Who knows, we might stumble upon the Resurrection Stone along the way.**”

***

As November moved inexorably forward to make way for December, Albus' and Gellert's morale soared, accompanied by the first snows. Fortune seemed to smile on the two boys, and the painful ordeals they had gone through in October had only strengthened them.

Albus no longer spoke of Ariana, at least with Gellert. He still thought a lot about it, of course, but talking about it with his Alter-Ego had helped him a lot. What was done was done. Ariana had died almost a century ago, and now Albus had to concentrate on what he could still save, namely Gellert. All his attention was focused on his lover and his plans. Every day he was working to take an ever greater part in the plans of the German boy, and he had now reached the stage where he was able to influence Gellert in a certain way towards this or that decision concerning Grindelwald’s Army - as he had called his group, in humorous response to Potter's group.

The debate group had evolved considerably and was now a considerable force on which Gellert and Albus could rely. While the weeks following the disastrous History of Magic class should have been difficult, they had been made very enjoyable by Grindelwald’s Army. Indeed, the sixty students it involved were not going to let their leader be socially isolated, and they had all made a point of showing Umbridge that her plan had not worked. They loved their leader and wanted the world to know it. As a result, never before had Gellert been so surrounded as during the month of November, always sought after and encouraged from all sides, to Professor Umbridge’s great irritation. The group had also grown in strength and numbers, and when they began to approach a hundred or so members, Albus pointed out to Gellert that leaving their power idle was a very bad idea. The two boys agreed that they could not operate at Hogwarts for fear that their actions would destabilize Dumbledore's threatened authority. So they decided to use their talents on the outside.

The group had been ecstatic when Gellert came to tell them that it was high time to move on to concrete actions, rather than fine words. So, one night a week, he was making good use of Albus' knowledge of Hogwarts' secret passageways, as well as his own six years of sneaking out of Durmstrang to visit the girls in the nearby village. He would take a small group of students, between five and ten supporters who had recently made themselves stand out, and take them outside the school. Once in Hogsmeade, they would use a clandestine chimney fire to travel to the four corners of the world for what Gellert called their ‘pitched battles’. The idea was to do something good and to grow thanks to that very act. Gellert wasn't naive enough to believe that this would change the world, but there was no denying that it united his community around him, and made his words much more powerful. So they had gone to a few villages in Africa to save some children - Muggles as well as wizards - from persecution when their peers thought they had powers. They had dismantled some extremist religious networks that were still engaged in witch hunts in Europe. They had given food and materials to some isolated communities that were struggling to provide their own needs. They had even given lessons to a few witches and wizards, both children and adults, who had not had the opportunity to go to school for training. All in all, these were enriching experiences that gave strength to their movement and made each member of the group want to distinguish themselves for the chance to follow Gellert on one of these expeditions. It had been quite a challenge with the Trace, and the leader of the army had had to draw inspiration from the spells of unplottabilityhe he had seen in Grimmauld Place to find a way to substitute his followers for the inquisitive gaze of the Ministry, but it was well worth it.

Albus was delighted with the direction Grindelwald’s Army was taking. He himself spent much of his nights searching for new causes for the group could serve, and he sincerely hoped that pushing Gellert to help the individual rather than the collective would make him more aware of the impact of his actions. After all, it wasn't about "peoples" but about real "individuals" with lives, dreams and futures. Albus was hopeful that pushing Gellert to become aware of this would make it harder for him to sacrifice them when the time will come in a few years.

All in all, everything was going well. Dumbledore's Army, though less prolific, was moving at its own pace and all its members were improving week by week. Even Harry, Ron and Hermione, though still unable to disarm Albus, had made phenomenal progress. They were now able to implement complex and bold strategies that would have worked brilliantly on a lesser wizard. Albus was even considering letting them win after the holidays, so that he would finally be able to move on to the actual lessons. However, he knew that the trio was evolving a lot in these fights, so he was holding back from doing such a thing for the time being. But, all in all, he was having a lot of fun at Hogwarts, and was regaining some of the secret euphoria that had so intoxicated him at Godric's Hollow.

In fact, that morning, which was the day Albus would finally be able to trade the perfect forgery they'd been working on for a month with the Deathly Hallow hanging in their dormitory, Gellert arrived at the table with a wild enthusiasm clearly visible on his face. Albus was pleasantly surprised to see him sitting next to him rather than at the Hufflepuff table.

"**Something tells me that this joy is not just related to the object we are going to acquire tonight.**”

“**No, it isn't. You remember my plan to conquer the hearts of Gryffindors. The one I put on standby after Umbridge’s intervention.**”

“**Yes, of course I do. Do you have any new ideas?**”

“**Better than that, I have the solution!**”

And with these words, Gellert took out of his pocket a crumpled piece of paper that looked like a half-ripped flyer.

Albus took it in his hands and quickly read it.

_Gryffindor's Quidditch Team is looking for two Beaters and a _ _Seeker_ _ to continue the season._

_Tryouts_ _ will take place on the Quidditch Field on Saturday morning. Brooms and equipment provided._

_Contact Angelina Johnson if interested._

Albus reread the announcement several times without understanding.

"**What does this have to do with your plan?**”

“**Well here it is, access to the hearts of the Gryffindors!**” exclaimed a particularly enthusiastic Gellert. “**If I win their damn game, I can assure you that they will love me.**”

“**But... can you play Quidditch?**”

“**Albus, come on. I'm the definition of a popular student. Of course I can play Quidditch. I'll just have to make sure I win in a blaze of glory. And that'll be that.**”

Albus was forced to admit that the foolish hearts of Gryffindors could very easily be won by something as trivial as sport. A little voice in the back of his head kept telling him that it would be nice to see Gellert in Quidditch's uniform. Perhaps if they both ended up in the locker room, there was a way that...

"**Albus, are you listening to me?**”

Albus jumped with blush, hiding his shameful thoughts behind the most powerful shield of Occlumency he could generate.

"**I think it's a very good idea. What place are you aiming for?**”

“**I'm more of a Beater, but Seekers are the real heroes of the game, so I'm gonna go for that spot. But I'm not planning on sticking around. You'll see, I'm going to be very invested in this match. I told you, I have to be flamboyant.**”

Albus refrained from saying that no matter what he did, Gellert was always the very definition of flamboyant.

***

"**So, did you pass the tryouts?**”

“**Of course, who do you think I am?**"

The two boys were both lying on Albus' bed that night. They had taken great care to close the curtains, cast a sleeping spell and a Quietus to make sure that even if someone woke up, they wouldn’t be able to hear them. The consequence was that the two boys now had all the leisure in the world to lie down against each other, and to kiss each other gently to make up for the considerable number of times they could not do so during the day. It was to interrupt Gellert and his overly bold hands that Albus had asked the question. He couldn't get enough of his lover, but the idea of going further while they were surrounded by other boys didn't excite him at all. But his plan had worked, and Gellert was now immersed in his enthusiastic memories, his adventurous hand finally reaching up Albus' belly and then his chest.

"**I was much better than all the other idiots. Johnson didn't want to, at first. She cordially hates me. But when she saw me fly, she changed her mind. I'm their new hope for the cup, obviously. And that feeling will spread all over the house when I win our next match.**”

“**You'll need a broom. It's almost holiday time, I'll go and buy you one then.**”

“**Do you have any money?**”

“**I'm the Headmaster of Hogwarts, I don't think I'm on minimum wage.**”

“**He'll let you access his vault?**”

“**Well, it's as much mine as his, after all.**”

And to show his agreement, Gellert once again stole his lover's pink and wet lips.

“**And how is Dumbledore's Army advancing?**" Gellert asked after a moment.

“**Well, it's all right. They plan to move on to the Patronus after the holidays.**”

“**Hannah Abbott told me so.**”

“**She told you about the D.A.?**”

“**Yeah. She tells me everything. She's very loyal, obviously.**”

“**She hasn't told us anything about your Army. I guess she chose sides.**”

“**Did she? Then I did well to take her with me to Mongolia last week... I think one of these days I might get her to meet Vinda... But first I have to toughen her up a bit, I think**.”

Albus remained pensive for a moment. Gellert had told him about Vinda, and he had the distinct impression that the old witch was going to devour Gellert's new lieutenant. But on the other hand, his lover seemed to see considerable potential in the young witch and his other supporters. Albus guessed that he probably had to trust him on this.

"**Well, anyway, I went to talk to Dumbledore...**”

“**You talk to him? Really?**” Gellert wondered.

“**Yes, I'm talking to him.**”

“**I thought you couldn't stand him.**”

“**He can be... frustrating sometimes. But we're starting to get along. He helps me with a lot of things.**”

“**What things?**”

This time Gellert looked frankly suspicious, but Albus shrugged his shoulders lightly.

"**Moral questions, you wouldn't be interested. Anyway, so I spoke to him, and he thinks we should either spend our holidays at Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place, whichever we prefer.**”

“**We have to go to Grimmauld Place. We'll be a lot closer to London, not to mention the fact that, even though we've finished Umbridge’s detentions, I'd prefer to stay away from that woman as much as possible.**”

Albus nodded his head. He had thought the same and had already informed Dumbledore of their choice.

"**And what are we going to do with this?**” he asked after a moment, pointing to his pillow which, protected by complex enchantments and forbidden runes, was stuffed with nothing but the Cloak of Invisibility.

“**We're taking it with us. He didn't notice anything?**”

“**Not a thing. We've done an excellent job. Both cloaks are identical.**”

“**I must say we're geniuses…**”

And with these words crying out for truth, their kisses began again, becoming more and more daring. Albus even thought of surrendering and letting Gellert go as far as he wanted, when they were interrupted by groans near them. They looked at each other for a moment, in the silence of the dormitory, unsure of what they had heard, and the moans began again, this time louder, more desperate. Gellert leapt to his feet, wand in hand, and got out of Albus' bed. But no Obliviate was cast and Albus finally pulled his head out of the curtains of his bed as well.

"**No one woke up. It's just Harry having a nightmare.**”

“**Lumos.**”

Albus got up in turn and walked to Harry's bed. Harry was in the middle of a fierce fight with his blankets. He was pulling, pushing, twisting and groaning, his forehead covered with a thin film of sweat. Whatever this nightmare was, it was undoubtedly one of the most violent. At that moment, the boy began to scream and the other occupants of the dormitory jolted up abruptly.

"**What is this?! What's going on?**”

“**Are we under attack?!**”

Albus said nothing. There was something strange about this dream. Slowly, he approached Harry's bed and sat down beside him... Then he closed his eyes, and used his gift of Legilimency to enter the young man's mind. He had no problem with this, Harry's thoughts were on fire, raw, unprotected, and they were offering themselves at first sight.

He slid across the floor like a snake. The ground was black and sinister beneath him. He slithered towards a silhouette from behind; a redheaded figure that Albus recognized at once. Then he reared up and, in a blinding gesture, struck the silhouette. Once, twice, three times. He repeated the gesture. Untiringly. Until the figure collapsed to the ground, paralyzed. But that didn't stop him, he continued to strike the victim, new spurts of blood with each attack. Until...

_Harry!_

“**Harry!**"

Albus opened his eyes the second Harry woke up. And he jerked away just in time to avoid the boy's vomit. Ron, who had been leaning over them, was visibly relieved to see his friend awake, but Harry immediately began a meaningless tirade of hasty, random words that none of the other boys understood. But as the unfortunate young man tried to convey the importance and urgency of the situation, Albus walked away, until he found himself in a corner of the dormitory with Gellert. His lover could see at once by the lividity of his face that something was wrong.

“**What is it?**" Gellert asked, after making sure the other boys, too preoccupied, weren't listening to them.

“**It's not a nightmare.**”

“**What was it, then?**”

“**A mind. Voldemort's. There's part of Voldemort's mind in him.**”


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !  
Brand new chapter. This one has not been corrected since my betareader is kind of busy right now with some wonderful and exciting project of her own and that silly little thing called... "work". Anyway. As soon as it will be corrected, I will repost it but, in the meantime, to try and keep my word of one chapter every two weeks, I'm posting it nonetheless. 
> 
> On an other matter entirely, did you heard about the reading of Harry Potter 1, by Daniel Radcliffe, Eddie Redmayne, etc.? Excited about it or you don't give a shit? For my part, I grow up with a wonderfully read french audiobook of HP, so it's so very strange to hear someone else... Yeah, I know, nothing to do with my fic, but I wanted to have your opinion on it...
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy it, les gens.

**Chapter 11**

The train was speeding through the English countryside. It had left Scotland behind for quite some time, and as the afternoon progressed lazily, it was now not far from London.

Inside the wagons, in a tail compartment, Albus and Gellert were sitting opposite to each other. Snow was falling continuously outside, but neither boy paid the slightest attention to it. In fact, from the beginning of the journey their minds had been preoccupied with a completely different matter: Harry Potter’s famous nightmare.

A week earlier, Harry had woken up screaming and Albus had clearly seen a part of Voldemort's mind in him. He had told Gellert about it while Professor McGonagall took the boy with her, but they hadn't had a chance to talk about it again since then. The next morning Harry and the Weasleys had left Hogwarts, and Umbridge was too close to this strange story for Albus to risk discussing it in the corridors. But now they were far from school, and Gellert had cast a powerful silencing charm around their compartment.

"**A piece of Voldemort's mind? Are you certain?**”

“**Yes, I'm positive. I could feel it. If I'd been given more time, I could've retraced the trail and penetrated Voldemort's mind.**”

“**You think he was possessed?**”

“**No, I don't think he was. Wasn’t like a possession. It was... It wasn't as if Voldemort's mind was far from here but that he was able to subdue Harry's spirit with his mental power. It was really as if a piece of Voldemort's mind was in Harry's head. Like some kind of parasite.**”

“**And you've seen something like this before?**”

“**No, I haven't seen anything like it. Never before. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of spell it would take to separate one’s mind like that. It would take a ubiquity spell of unprecedented power.**”

The two boys remained pensive for a moment. It was rare enough for them to stumble upon an act of magic they couldn't understand that it would deeply destabilize them.

“**Do you think it has something to do with the fact that Voldemort couldn't kill him as a child?**" Gellert asked after a while. “**The Avada Kedavra didn't work because there was a part of his mind in him.**”

“**Or the other way around. Maybe it's because he didn't succeed in killing him that there's a connection between them. The history books say that the spell bounced back on him, maybe that's when his mind fragmented.**”

“**But what state would he have to be in before he was able to fragment like that?**”

“**I don't know. But it's very strange. And I'm sure this mystery is indicative of something that's central to our war against Voldemort. We need to understand the connection between the two of them. And to do that, I need to...**”

Albus doesn't finish his sentence. He was interrupted by quick, sharp knocks on the compartment window. The two boys turned towards the source of the noise and saw Hermione on the other side, waving at them. With a gesture of his wand, Gellert opened the sliding door. The young woman entered immediately and sat down with them.

"**We will soon arrive at King's Cross. Are you going to Grimmauld Place, too?**”

“**Yes, but weren't you supposed to go skiing with your parents?**” Gellert asked.

Hermione appeared deeply uneasy about the fact that Grindelwald seemed to know about her holiday plans, but she obviously took it upon herself. All three of them were members of the Order, and this was no time to ostracize anyone.

"**Yes, but I thought it was more important to go to Grimmauld Place right now. I told my parents I was staying at Hogwarts to study, and they didn't ask any questions.**”

“**And what are you going to do there?**" Albus asked.

“**I don't know. To tell you the truth, I don't know anything about what happened, except that Neville told me that Harry had had a nightmare about Ron's father. Anyway, Ron and Harry might need me. I need to stay by their side. What about you?**”

“**Old Dumbledore left us no choice,**" Gellert explained. “**Originally we could choose between Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place, but since the incident, Dumbledore has said he wants us there. To look after Harry.**”

Hermione did not answer. Albus, however, didn't need his Legilimency gifts to know that the idea of Grindelwald watching over one of her friends was not something she was really fond of. However, she kept her cool enough to get to the heart of the matter.

"**But there's no danger in Grimmauld Place, right?**”

Albus couldn't help thinking that if part of Voldemort's mind lived in Harry, then the boy was nowhere safe. However, Gellert shrugged his shoulders, weary.

"**No, clearly none. The worst thing that can happen to him is to electrify himself with a Christmas ornament. Dumbledore only asked us to come to clear his conscience and to keep me from wandering around the world.**”

The answer seemed to make sense to Hermione, but it left Albus pensive. Why on earth had Dumbledore urged them to return to London? If it was simply that he didn't want them to walk around freely, they could very well have stayed at Hogwarts, indeed. So was it really because he wanted them to protect Harry? In that case, did that mean that he already suspected that Albus knew about Voldemort's mind? The young man sighed inwardly. He had the impression that one of the old man's famous chess games was being played right now and that, once again, he and Gellert were merely pawns in it.

“**How are you going to get to Grimmauld Place?**" asked Hermione finally.

“**By Apparition, probably.**”

“**You can apparate? But you're only fifteen years old!**”

“**Albus and I are very precocious.**”

“**And the Trace? Aren't you afraid the Ministry will arrest you for using magic before you're old enough?**”

“**According to the records, I'm 114 years old,**" Albus said, amused. “**I passed the required age limit a long time ago. Not to mention the fact that Gellert isn't on any register. We have nothing to worry about.**”

“**I was thinking of taking the Knight Bus.**”

Albus raised an eyebrow. So this transport still existed? Invented in 1865, it had already been used many times in Albus' life, notably when he had to get to King's Cross on his own when his mother was too busy caring about Ariana. But at the time, it was not very well known, and was often considered an unworthy transport, far too much inspired by the Muggles. Albus wouldn't have bet that the old bus could have survived this long.

“**I don't think we should split up,**" Hermione continued after a silence. “**Maybe we'd better go to Grimmauld Place together.**”

“**Afraid you'll miss me?**” Gellert asked with a fleshy smile.

“**I'd give anything to stay as far away from you as possible, Grindelwald. But if you use Apparition, and for some reason one of the many registers of the Ministry of Magic is up to date, then they'll find Sniffle's house immediately.**”

“**All right,**" Albus conceded.

He doubted that anyone would be able to trace his whereabouts, but if he could avoid a confrontation between Hermione and Gellert, it would be better.

"**Here, the station.**”

And indeed, the train had just slowed down considerably, in order to start its stop smoothly. From the window one could see the platform in the distance, approaching inexorably. The three wizards were already in Muggle clothes, their suitcases ready. Gellert simply screwed a beret on his head to hide his heterochromatic eyes in the shadows. When the train was finally stopped, the three of them got out in a hurry, and didn't linger on the platform at all. Slaloming between families and station employees, they joined the Muggle world and quickly blended into the crowd, becoming three anonymous figures. Taking circuitous paths, they finally arrived at a deserted alley where Hermione hailed with her wand. A few seconds later, a three-storey bus of flaming purple stopped in front of them. A young man, just out of childhood, with ears sticking out and a face full of pimples, got out of the vehicle to greet them.

“**Hello**," Hermione said shyly, "**we... we'd like to go to Little Leighton Square. It's in London.**”

“**Of course, of course, get in. That'll be eleven sickles per head, thirteen if you want a hot chocolate and fifteen for a toothbrush of your choice of colour.**”

“**Just the ride will be enough,**" Hermione said, taking the money out of her pocket.

Albus paid for him and for Gellert and all three got on the bus.

"**So, what are you going to do to Little Leighton? Family holydays?**”

“**Yes**," said quickly Hermione, who obviously didn't want all that attention.

“**And what is your name, anyway?**”

“**Uh... I'm Parvati Patil. And they are Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. We go together...** "

But she was interrupted by a movement near the bus door. Just as the door was about to close, a hand had effectively blocked it and a tall man, dressed in a black cape and with his head hidden under a large hat, had just gone up. The controller went at once to meet him and greet him, but Hermione turned to the two boys.

"**Do you think...**”

“**Yes. He works for the Ministry, obviously.**”

“**Gee, what are we going to do?**”

Albus analyzed the situation quickly. They had already given their direction to the bus driver, they couldn't change it without looking suspicious. They would have to get off at Little Leighton, and get rid of their pursuer on the way to Grimmauld Place. But just knowing that they were going to Little Leighton would considerably narrow the Ministry’s field of investigation. So they had to find something else. Perhaps a quick Imperio... No. Albus had to stop thinking naturally about the most forbidden spells. There had to be some other way to do it.

The bus started moving, and the man dressed in black went to sit by the only way out. A well-placed Obliviate... but wouldn't the Ministry have a way to track the movements of the Knight Bus and guess that their stop was Little Leighton if they ever let the transport continue? Albus began to nibble his lips, vainly trying to come up with a plan, but he soon noticed that, while Hermione seemed as concerned as he was, Gellert was not.

“**What's the matter?**" he finally asked him.

“**We are not alone.**”

“**Excuse me?**"

Gellert, with a slight smile, made a discreet gesture with his head in the direction of an unfriendly looking old wizard who was sitting in a corner. His white hair was cut very short, and his shoulders were broad and straight. His blue eyes cast fierce glances around him, and Albus didn't immediately understand why Gellert had just pointed him out. Then he get it. The wizard’s robe was slightly ajar, revealing the beginning of his torso. And Albus saw very clearly a tattooed symbol half hidden. A symbol representing the Deathly Hallows, framed by two "G" back to back. The man was a supporter of Grindelwald.

“**Did you call him?**" Albus finally asked.

“**No. Maybe it's Vinda. Or, it's perfectly possible that it's just a coincidence. It seems that I'm still very popular today.**”

“**Do you think he recognized you?**” asked Hermione who had just understood the topic of the conversation.

“**I think so, yes. He's been staring at me ever since in get on the bus.**”

“**And you think... you think you could use him to distract the Ministry agent?**”

Gellert had a little amused smile that he reserved for Hermione.

"**Well, well, well. Miss Impeccable-Morale would be willing to use a Grindelwald villain to get out of her predicament.**”

“**If we don't do anything, Sniffle's in for a big one!**" Hermione defended herself, blushing. “**The stakes are too high.**”

Gellert savoured his victory for a few more moments and then finally refocused. He drew the man's attention and, very gently, pointed to the Ministry agent. Immediately, the old wizard’s eyes lit up with a gleam of pure madness and frightening determination. He leapt to his feet, attracting everyone's attention.

"**Heil Grindelwald!**”

And with a loud roar, he threw his hands forward at the officer. The two men rolled to the ground, drawn into a half-magical, half-muggle fight, with blows and sparks flying in all directions. In panic, the controller tried to separate the two men, only to get a nasty punch on his nose that made him stagger backwards. A badly cast spell landed on the hat of a scowling witch which immediately took fire. The woman got up on her feet, threw her magnificent headgear to the ground and, furious at having been attacked, cast some well-meant curses in the direction of the two men on the ground. A very old woman, visibly peculiarly upset in the face of this unworthy spectacle, was giving cane blows to the right and left while preaching to anyone who wanted to hear her about the excesses of the younger generation. Little by little, the agitation spread throughout the bus, which exploded into an incomprehensible chaos.

“**That's our cue,**" Gellert said. “**Now is a good time to disappear.**”

Taking advantage of the surrounding heckling, Albus took out his wand. With a quick gesture, he made a window disappear and floated their suitcases out. Then he turned to the driver and the ticket inspector, and a quick Obliviate removed from their minds any memory of the address they may have given them. Finally, he took Gellert and Hermione's hands and apparated them outside the bus, on the pavement beside their suitcases.

“**Quick, let's get out of here!**" exclaimed Hermione.

Each grabbed his or her belongings and the three of them walked away, ignoring the snow and the wind, hoping to put as much distance as possible between them and the Ministry officer. They walked for a long time in silence, crossing the crowded streets of London, trying to blend in, glancing over their shoulders at regular intervals to see if they were being followed.

“**I think we've lost them**," Albus said eventually.

“**There was nothing to worry about after all.**”

“**Nothing to worry about?**" Hermione choked. “**If your follower hadn't been there...**”

“**We would have found something else.**”

“**Maybe...**"

The young lady seemed unconvinced. In fact, she gave the impression that she was caught up in other, more worrying thoughts. Albus' instinct told him immediately that he had no desire to know the nature of these thoughts. But Hermione ended up sharing them nevertheless.

"**Perhaps, but I still don't understand...**”

“**We're almost there,**" Albus remarked to distract them.

“**What don't you understand?**" Gellert asked, ignoring his lover.

“**I don't understand what just happened. I mean, you just had to show him someone. That's all you had to do. Nothing more. And this man... he threw himself at him. It looked like he was ready to kill him. For a simple gesture on your part.**”

“**He obviously loves me very much.**”

“**One should never love someone that much.**”

The rest of the way, Albus wondered if he loved Gellert that much. And the answer he ended up finding was not a happy one...

* * *

* * *

In these moments, Neville never knew whether he should lean towards the most unfathomable sadness, or the most sincere joy. Christmas was always a complicated time for him, as it invariably rhymed with a visit to his parents' bedside. Don't let it be misunderstood. Neville loved his parents. For him, they were the very definition of a hero, and he loved no one in the world more than he loved Frank and Alice Longbottom. But going to Saint Mungo, seeing his parents' empty, dumb eyes, thinking of all the things he would never have, all the memories he couldn't make, always made him deeply unhappy. He almost preferred to endure his grandmother's litany of reproaches, her hurtful comparisons with his wonderful parents, than to endure the unshakeable silence of those two faces he was supposed to know but were so foreign to him.

That year, it was during morning that they decided to make their visit, and Neville was sitting on a small stool at the end of his mother's bed. Augusta, for her part, gently tapped her son's shoulder and told him in detail about the meal they had had the day before. Alice, on the other hand, was sitting, tiny in her oversized bed, her white slippers barely touching the floor. Her bulging eyes were fixed on Neville and watched him unfailingly, while revealing no emotion. Maybe she didn't feel any emotion at all. No, Neville knew not to go down that road. Over the years, he had had evidence that something stirred in his parents when they saw him. He was certain, Alice and Frank recognized him. They may not have known it was their son. They may not even know that they had once felt so much love for him. But Neville was certain that somehow he was familiar to them. And he had to hold on to that because, no matter how small a detail, it was the only one that gave him any kind comfort.

"**All right, Neville, let's go.**”

The boy nodded his head, gave his parents one last shy smile and followed his grandmother. They drew the curtains that offered some privacy to the two beds and found themselves in the main room.

"**And... Oh, Mrs. Londubat, are you leaving already?** »

But Neville didn't listen to the rest of the conversation. All his attention was now turned to a group of young people a little further away, whom he immediately recognized. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Gellert and Albus. But what was they doing there? He felt himself blushing in spite of himself. Quickly, he closed the curtains, hoping to hide his parents from his friends who were staring at him without understanding.

“**It's us, Neville!**" Ron finally exclaimed, acknowledging him. “**Have you seen? Lockhart’s here! Who’ve you been visiting?**”

Neville didn't give a damn about Lockhart. He knew he'd been there since the holidays after his Second year. But if it would distract his classmates, all the better.

"**Friends of yours, Neville, dear?**"

On the other hand, if his grandmother got involved, everything would invariably get complicated.

"**Oh, yes,**" she mumbled when she saw Harry. “**Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville spoke most highly of you. And you two are clearly Weasleys. Yes, I know your parents - not well of course - but fine people. And you must be Hermione Granger? Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spot, haven’t you? He's a good boy.**”

The old witch's gaze then fell on Albus and her eyes lit up with a youth she was far from possessing. She immediately grabbed his hand and shook it ardently.

"**And you must be Albus Dumbledore! Yes, of course, I recognize you! I fought by your side, you know! Two wars, we've been through together! And I'm ready to fight a third! All you have to do is say the word, and my wand is at your disposal.**”

Neville could not help blushing violently, lowering his eyes to avoid the stinging shame, but Albus remained imperturbable, and he bowed his head with the utmost politeness.

"**I shall remember those words, Mrs Longbottom. And though a war is by no means something to look forward to, I'm glad to know I'll have you by my side.**”

The old witch seemed ecstatic, but her face turned a little frowning when her eyes fell on Gellert. However, she maintained an almost pedantic dignity when she spoke to him.

"**Grindelwald... I've already fought you once. As long as Albus Dumbledore asks me to, I'll consider you on our side. But know that I'm perfectly capable of going back to fight you if it's my duty**.”

Gellert, to everyone's surprise, had an amused smile and shrugged his shoulders. However, as he was about to reply to something, a movement in front of him caught his eye and he squinted.

“**Are they your parents?**" he finally asked Neville, pointing to Alice and Frank, who were sitting silently in their dressing gowns.

“**Yes**!" Augusta replied at once, full of haughty pride. “**My son and his wife.**”

“**Why are they in this service?**”

“**Gellert!**" exclaimed Albus, visibly outraged by his friend's lack of tact.

But Neville sighed inside. He knew that his Grandmother was just waiting for an opportunity to tell them the whole story. He would have preferred to keep his mouth shut. He wasn't ashamed of his parents at all. On the contrary, he was very proud. But the story belonged to him. To him and to no one else.

"**It doesn't matter. Grindelwald, you might as well be aware of the kind of enemies you might meet. Alice and Frank were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers.**”

Neville looked down. Hearing that story hurt him so much every time. One’d think things would desensitize over time. But not this one. Shyly, he glanced at his classmates. Ginny and Hermione, horrified, had their hands over their mouths, Ron opened his eyes in astonishment, and Harry seemed very embarrassed, as if he wanted to be somewhere else at all costs. Well, there were two of them in that situation. Gellert, for his part, stared at Neville with his strange and disturbing eyes, as if he was seeing something new. Something he hadn't seen before. Finally, Albus had his eyes fixed on Alice and Frank, a sincere sorrow in his eyes and... Neville felt as if he was reading some kind of understanding.

He wondered for a moment where such an expression could come from, but his thoughts were interrupted by his mother who approached him to offer him a candy wrapping paper. He didn't really know where this habit came from, but Neville treasured each of his mother's gifts, no matter how trivial. So, even though his grandmother ordered him to throw it away, the young man discreetly slipped it into his pocket. He could later put it away with all the others he had carefully guarded throughout his life in a box that he took everywhere, even to Hogwarts.

Neville and his grandmother finally took their leave of the other young people and headed for the exit. However, this was far from the end of their visit. Neville knew from experience that from now on Augusta would go around the ward to rebuke or encourage the care team according to her affinity with each person. This could last between half an hour and two hours, depending on the old woman's energy. And, today, Augusta seemed to be bubbling. So Neville stuck his head into his shoulders, ready to wait for it to pass. Despite this, it took him almost three-quarters of an hour to notice that a strange object was in his pocket. He took it out and immediately recognized the little papier-mâché griffin he had made to brighten up his mother's bedside table. Idiot that he was, he had forgotten to give it to her! As usual! He lectured himself at length about his perpetual stupidity and told his grandmother that he had to go back to Alice's room quickly. Augusta, busy with a particularly violent diatribe against a trainee, did not pay the slightest attention to him and Neville quickly crept through the hospital corridors to go give his gift. When he entered the large, secluded ward again, his Hogwarts comrades were no longer there, to his relief. He walked to the drawn curtains and silently opened them.

"**Mum, it's me. I forgot to...**"

He stopped in the middle of his sentence. He wasn't alone. Albus was now sitting on the stool he'd previously occupied. The young man had been immersed in intense contemplation, and seemed as surprised as Neville when he saw him.

"**A-Albus? What are you doing here?**"

“**Er... nothing... sorry... I was just... lost in my memories. I'll leave you to them.**”

Albus stood up, obviously ashamed. He was about to disappear when...

"**Albus, wait.**”

Neville curses himself inside. He should have let him go. The truth was that the young man had been particularly troubled since he had overheard that intimate moment between Albus and Gellert. He felt deeply sorry for having listened to what he shouldn't have heard, and at the same time, he wondered what the consequences of all this would be. He had been looking, those last few weeks, for a way to ease his guilty conscience, without success. Perhaps there were no good means or opportunities, and he had to be content with being sincere. Hopefully Albus won't be too angry with him. He hadn't formed any important bonds with him, nor with Gellert, but he was scared enough of them not to want to alienate them.

“**What's wrong?**" Albus finally asked in the silence that followed the call of his name.

“**I... I have something to tell you... to confess to you**.”

Albus frowned. His embarrassment had evaporated and all his attention was now on Neville. Neville lowered his eyes to his nervous hands and continued.

"**I... One night... a few weeks ago... I didn't mean to do it! But... here... I heard you...**”

“**Who's that?**”

“**You and Gellert.**”

“**Oh.**"

Albus remained impassive for a moment, visibly shocked by the announcement. His eyes remained planted in Neville's, but his mind seemed far away, and his brains too surprised to activate.

“**And what did you hear?**" he finally asked in a white and tense voice.

“**I didn't hear so much as I saw, actually... You two were... you were... kissing.**”

“**Oh**."

Slowly, without seeming to realize it, Albus let himself fall heavily on the stool. The silence dragged on for a long time, leaving Neville very uncomfortable. He had no idea what could actually go through the genius' mind, but Albus seemed deeply dismayed by the story. Trying to swallow his guilt, Neville forced himself to continue.

"**But I haven't told anyone about it! And I won't tell anyone. It's none of my business.**”

“**Look, what's between Gellert and I...**”

“**You don't have to tell me! I'm... I'm sorry I saw that! And I'm not asking you for anything! No explanation!**”

“**I don't want you to misunderstand things. It's just, what Gellert and I have... it's very complicated.**”

“**You weren't just acquaintances, were you?**”

Neville didn't know where the audacity of such a question came from, but he asked it nevertheless, following an instinct he didn't know he had. Slowly, almost shamefully, Albus nodded.

"**Why didn't you say anything? Is it so important to you that your, uh, relationship remain a secret?**”

“**Yes!**" Albus exclaimed at once. “**We mustn't let anyone know! You mustn't tell anyone!**”

“**I won't! But why?**”

“**For... many reasons...**"

Albus remained silent for a moment and then stood up.

"**Come on, let's go somewhere else.**”

Neville followed him without saying anything. After putting his griffin on the bedside table and kissing his mother goodbye, he left the room after Albus. They walked through several corridors in silence until they reached a secluded balcony. Albus stepped forward a little, leaning against the railing to observe London in front of him. Neville, for his part, approached timidly, keeping his gaze fixed on the melancholy silhouette of his comrade.

"**The first reason was that it would have made us look bad. If people had known we were together, they might have thought I'd helped Gellert get back. For all they knew I could have been on his side since the very beginning through the** **end.”**

“**And that wasn't the case?**”

“**No! We really were enemies during the war. At least, that's what the headmaster says. We really fought each other. If people had known I had the slightest affinity for Gellert, they wouldn't have trusted me so much to keep an eye on him.** »

Yes. It made sense. A lot of people let Grindelwald walk around because they knew Dumbledore was there to protect them. If their relationship was made public, panic would quickly take hold of the crowds, no doubt about it. However, one point remained unclear for Neville.

"**But you haven't told anyone about you. Not even to the first people you met.**”

“**No**.”

“**But, at that time, how did you know they considered you the enemy of Grindelwald, if you weren't enemies in your own time?**”

Albus seemed to hesitate. With his fingertips he drew abstract drawings on the railing, as he seemed to be searching for his words.

"**My relationship with Gellert, regardless of what History knows about us, was never something I could reveal. Not even then, when Gellert wasn’t famous. So it's not like I'm gonna tell anybody about it, now.**”

“**But why wouldn’t you?**”

“**Because... well... it's obvious, isn't it?**”

Neville shrugged, feeling particularly stupid. But Albus stared at him silently, as if he was wondering whether he was being played or not.

"**Well,**" he finally said, "**Gellert, he's a boy.**”

Neville opened his mouth and, understanding the implication of this sentence, closed it again. He hadn't thought about it for a moment. He was too preoccupied by the fact that it was Dumbledore and Grindelwald to realize that it was also and above all two men.

"**But who cares, right?**”

Albus had a small bitter laugh that was not amused as his eyes returned to the London landscape.

"**You say that because you're lucky enough to be born like everyone else. If you were... like me... you would see things differently.**”

“**But, you're, like, the most powerful wizard that ever lived. More powerful than Merlin himself! Why do you care what people think of you?! You're above all that!**”

“**Above all that, really?**”

Once again, Albus seemed distant and contemplative, a sincere sadness on his face.

"**I was fourteen years old at the time. Fourteen years old when I discovered I wasn't... like the other boys. And that’s at that exact time that Oscar Wilde has been imprisoned for homosexuality. The time I come from, what I am, who I love, is criminal, Neville. It could destroy my whole life in a split second. Even I am not above the law.**”

“**Yeah, well, at the time, maybe. But now!**”

“**Really? You really believe that? Tell me, Neville. How many gay people do you know at Hogwarts?**”

“**Uh...**”

“**None, right? Do you really think it's because there are no homosexuals?**”

Albus had just prove his point and Neville knew it. How the young genius had been able to underline so clearly something that had been in Neville's sight all along without him paying the slightest attention to it was beyond him.

“**They’re hiding,**" Albus finally concluded, leaning over the railing. “**And they're right. For they certainly don't have a tender life ahead of them.**”

“**But if they keep hiding, nothing will ever change!**”

“**So it's their fault?**”

“**No! Of course it's not! But... there must be something we can do, right! Something to change!**”

Albus didn't answer. He absorbed himself in the landscape, leaving Neville to his own thoughts. And he, after a few minutes of reflection, finally understood.

"**That's what he wants to do, right? Gellert. He wants to change that.**”

Silently, Albus nodded. Neville's heart tightened. It was so easy and so restful to condemn Gellert. To blame him for every fault imaginable. But how could anyone who had committed such atrocities be able to fight for such just causes? The world was not meant to be like this. It was supposed to be black and white. And it was only now that Neville began to discern the multitude of shades of grey that surrounded him.

“**When we met,**" Albus continued after a moment, "**when he realized what I was, he accepted me right away. Without the slightest hesitation. As if what I was, deep down, was something natural. He, who had only known girls before me, had no idea what it was like to be like me. But he listened to me, and he observed me. He saw how painful and damaging society was for people like me. And he promised me that he would change it for me. He told me that it wasn't for me to adapt to it, but for it to change for me. But it’s not only about me. It’s about all wizardkind. He thinks no one should live in the shadows, no minority should be ashamed of themselves**.”

“**He... he's right...** "

It was a bit heart-breaking for Neville to admit that Grindelwald was right on any subject, but in this context any other words would have been out of place.

"**Look, about that, I don't want to ask you to lie or anything, but...**”

“**I won't say anything. Not a soul. I won't. It's your story.**”

“**Thank you, Neville. It means a lot to me.**”

“**In exchange, nothing about my parents?**”

“**Of course.**”

The two boys fell back into silence. A silence this time comfortable and complicit. Neville gradually realized that Albus might not be the perfect, emotionless teenager he often seemed to be. And that made him sad. Not because he would have preferred Albus to be, but because it must have been very complicated and painful to play such a role.

* * *

* * *

"**Are you sure he won't say anything?**”

“**He won't.**”

“**Really sure?**”

“**Yes, Gellert, I'm really sure.**”

There was no reply, which immediately alerted Albus. He turned his head towards his lover who was sitting by the window and cast a suspicious glance at him.

"**Gellert...**”

“**What?**”

“**I do know what’s going on.**”

“**What?!**”

“**You're trying to figure out a way to erase his memory without me noticing.**”

Gellert's lack of repartee had tones of confession. Albus rose on one elbow to observe his lover severely.

"**Gellert, I forbid you to go near him.**”

“**…**”

“**I'm perfectly serious. You won't do anything to Neville. End of discussion.**”

“**…**”

“**Gellert?**”

“**Yes, fine, I promise.**”

Satisfied, Albus let himself fall on his back with his head on the pillow. He continued his previous activity, namely to detail what he had in his hands. Earlier in the evening, Gellert had given him his Christmas gift, a perfect reproduction of their blood pact.

"**It will keep the place warm for when I return the real pact,**" he had say, confidently.

It was a beautiful gift, Albus thought. More important than any other, surely. Yet his thoughts weren't about that. They were all focused on the events of the morning, and more specifically...

"**What's on your mind, Al?**”

Albus turned on his side to face his lover.

"**Neville's parents.**”

“**What about them?**”

“**Well... it's rather sad, isn't it?**”

“**Yeah. I suppose it is. Then what?**”

“**Well, I don't know.**”

He turned on his back and looked up at the ceiling.

"**You know, with Ariana... I had already done some research on mental and magical disorders related to trauma. And with that invention I told you about the other day, you know, psychoanalysis... I thought maybe there was something that could be done for Neville's parents. Something I could do.**”

“**Don't you think that if you could do something, old Dumbledore would have done it by now?**”

“**I don't know... Sometimes I feel like he doesn't do much with his days, that man.**”

Albus played for a moment with the pendant between his long fingers, hesitating to share what he had in mind. But after all, it was Gellert he was talking to.

"**It's just that... I was thinking that I probably had the potential to do... a little more, you know what I mean? A little bit more than a school headmaster.**”

“**A little more, like saving Neville's parents?**”

“**That's an example, just like that. But, yeah, like that. I grew up thinking that one day I'd be able to do things that no one else would be able to do. And it was about slightly higher ambitions than teaching children to turn matches into needles.**”

Albus heard more than he saw Gellert get up lazily from the window, like a big cat, and approach the bed before sitting down next to his lover. When the two boys were lying next to each other, Gellert put his hand on Albus' cheek and turned his head in his direction.

"**Do you really want to do that?**”

“**I'd like to try, yes. I think there's something I can do.**”

“**Then I'm sure you will succeed and accomplish miracles.**”

And on his words, he put an arm over Albus' shoulders to bring him closer to him. The young man put his head against his lover's chest and, as he heard the heartbeats and thoughts running through his head, he calmly fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens!  
Hope you're all fine! Sorry for the delay, I had quite a lot to do for the university and the memoir I have to write.  
But anyway, here's the new chapter, hope you'll like it!  
Once again, my wonderful betareader has been to busy so I'm posting it without correction. Don't hesitate to point out the mistakes you see.
> 
> Enjoy, les gens!

**CHAPTER 12**

Returning to Hogwarts was a relatively bleak obligation for Albus. He had spent seven years worshipping the castle, seeing it as his home far more than Godric's Hollow, but now things had changed greatly. Was it something to do with Umbridge, or the fact that he was eighteen now, he didn't know. But the idea of going back to the long stone corridors of the school was tinged with dark, desaturated colors in his mind. He had loved his holiday, to tell the truth. He had been able to spend almost every hour of his day with Gellert, locked in their room, talking, researching, or doing other activities that required less thought and more action. He had been able to move forward with his ideas about Neville's parents, and even sensed that he was getting close to something about the issue of the parasite in Harry's mind. But, before he could get anywhere, he had had to take over the Hogwarts Express, knowing full well that he was returning to a routine with less Gellert and fewer interesting books. It was towards the end of January, when he was so downhearted, that his lover, who was still modestly standing at least seventy-five centimetres away from him - it was thirty centimetres before Christmas, but Albus had forced him to increase that distance since his discussion with Neville - encouraged him to go to a teacher and ask for exceptional permission to go and search the Restricted Section. Albus had at first shrugged his shoulders and rejected the idea, but he had finally decided it wouldn't cost anything to try.

It took him a while to find out who he could ask. McGonagall and Snape were out of the question, far too close to old Dumbledore. Umbridge, there was no point in even mentioning her. Albus wasn't sure if Binns was in a position to sign an authorisation, given his ghostly state. That said, there was still Flitwick and Sprout. These two teachers loved him with all their hearts. Whether it was his polite attitude, his flamboyant intelligence, his sincere curiosity, or his direct link with the respected headmaster, the facts were there, he was without a doubt their favourite student. In every class, he brought Gryffindor dozens of points, almost enough to make up for those that Gellert had made them lose through his arrogance and indiscipline.

But there was of course the educational decree number twenty-six, which had come out just after Azkaban's mass escape. This notice prevented students and teachers from communicating on anything not directly related to the subject of their class. And, without surprise, Umbridge was too vigilant in monitoring Albus for him to risk shamelessly disobeying it. However, as the next visit to Hogsmeade was fast approaching, it was Gellert who gave him an idea.

"**You have to stay in the castle, it gives you a chance to talk to them.**”

“**But Umbridge’s gonna be all over me.**”

“**She can't. She's supposed to be watching my detention, remember? Because of my escapade to the village earlier this year.**”

Albus had hesitated, but Gellert had given him the perfect opportunity. And so, on Valentine's Day, as all the couples made their way through the park to the village, Albus headed for the Charm Class. He was relieved to find Flitwick there at first sight. The little man was busy rearranging the decorations in his room, whistling merrily, so he jumped violently when Albus knocked on the door three times.

"**Oh, Mr. Dumbledore, what are you doing here? Aren't you already on your way to Hogsmeade?**”

“**No, I'm not. I've been forbidden to leave by Professor Umbridge.**”

Flitwick mumbled to himself and Albus guessed without hesitation that it was better if those words were never to come to Umbridge ears. The young man walked a few steps into the room, his polite smile on his lips.

"**So to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Dumbledore?**”

“**Nothing, I was bored. So I thought I'd come in for a little chat.**”

Flitwick looked extremely flattered for a few moments, his chest swelling significantly, but he quickly cast an anxious eye to the door.

"**I don't know if this is a wise idea...**”

“**Professor Umbridge is in her office,**” immediately cut Albus, on the tone of confidence, accompanied by a charming smile, as if he was sharing a light and harmless secret ”** with Gellert. I would never have gotten you in trouble otherwise, Professor.**”

The little man looked deeply introspective, visibly weighing the pros and cons, and finally he had a shy smile.

"**Come into my office, I must have a few Butterbeer in there. They're not as good as Madam Rosmerta's, but they'll still bring you a little bit closer to Hogsmeade.**”

"**Thank you, Professor.**”

Flitwick offered a knowing wink to the young man and they both walked to the professor's office. The room was small enough and loaded with large books of all kinds, which rose to the ceiling and caused the bookcases and shelves to crumble under their weight. The desk, which took up most of the space, was littered with papers and homework from students correcting themselves. Flitwick went to a corner of the cluttered room and fought for a moment with a large cupboard from which he pulled out dusty butterbeer bottles. Meanwhile, Albus took out his wand and create two upholstered armchairs, made of golden wood and silver fabric.

“**It's beautiful magic!**" exclaimed the old professor as he climbed onto the seat.

“**I must say I have a good teacher.**”

Albus accepted the bottle that was handed to him and uncorked it with a wave of his wand, thanking the person who had given it to him.

"**So, there's no one you'd rather spend Valentine's Day with than your boring old charm teacher, Mr. Dumbledore?**”

Albus easily forced a sincere smile on his face, so as not to leave the slightest trace of uneasiness.

"**No, this kind of thing is not for me. Not now anyway.**”

“**That's good. One need to focus on one’s studies. There's a time for everything. But be careful. This kind of thing, it can fall on you without warning.**”

You tell me, Albus mumbled mentally without saying anything. However, he resolved to change the subject quickly so as not to linger too long on tracks he preferred to see remain unexplored.

"**I heard that you were a great duellist in your youth! Is this true?**”

“**I wasn't just a great duellist!**" Flitwick boasted, full of pride. “**I was the champion of Hogwarts in my day! Not that that should impress you. After all, there's no greater duellist than Albus Dumbledore.**”

“**Perhaps at a later age. But the truth is, as far as I'm concerned, I wasn't even a member of the Hogwarts club.**”

“**You weren't? That's a shame. It's a great art, you know, a great art! I don't think you've ever heard of the 1948 inter-house final. I was only in my third year and I fell against the champion of Gryffindor, a certain Letha Wondenberg. We were then...**”

And nothing could hold him anymore. Albus, the very embodiment of patience, listened with interest to all the anecdotes of Flitwick, who told him at length about his youth and all the events connected with it. He was given a summary of the seven dueling club finals he had known, of some memorable confrontations he had had as an adult, and even, more timidly, of one or two fights against Death Eaters in the days of Voldemort's former regime. Albus asked relevant questions at relevant times, putting the old teacher at ease and proving himself to be the most disciplined and pleasant student imaginable. He made some particularly witty jokes and soon the old man was literally eating out of his hand.

“**But you, tell me,**" Flitwick asked after narrating for the third time how he had disarmed Wondenberg, "**what is your passion at the moment, if not love nor duels?**”

“**Well...**" Albus began, pretending to think as if he hadn't been formulating his answer in his head for several days “**To tell the truth, I'm caught up in my research at the moment.**”

“**Oh, your research?**”

Flitwick leaned forward, visibly fascinated and eager to know more.

"**I was fifteen years old when I read the reports you published during your time at Hogwarts. They made quite an impression on me, I can assure you! Such genius! And so young, too! Now, don't beat about the bush and tell me exactly what this is all about.**”

“**Well, ever since my... arrival, I couldn't help but notice the phenomenal progress the Muggles have made in the space of just over a century. In medicine, in technology, in computers, in physics, in industry, they've revolutionized their world in a century, almost more than in three thousand years of civilization. I think it is high time that wizards came out of their bubble of arrogance and realized that their neighbours have much to teach them. So, I am thinking about how Muggle knowledge could revolutionize the practice of magic tomorrow.**”

“**It's absolutely fascinating! And if there is one person who can open the eyes of wizards on this issue, it's you, Mr. Dumbledore! But tell me, how far along are you in your research?**”

Albus discreetly moistened his lips; it was the moment of truth.

**"Well, that's where it gets complicated. Since the atomic bomb of 1945, most of the books dealing with Muggle science have been stored in the Restricted Section. Which is sheer nonsense, if you ask me. Classrooms aren't barred because some Hogwarts students become Dark Wizard. Then why ban Muggle science because some people misused it?**”

“**I agree with you!**" Flitwick railed. “**Especially since the headmaster had long fought unsuccessfully against the Board of Governors to lift this ban.**”

Flitwick's anger was pleasant to see. Albus didn't have Gellert's admirable gifts, but he was still able to convince a few spirits.

"**So I might as well say that my research isn't going very far. I don't have access to the Restricted Section, and the open library doesn't have enough books to support my ideas.**”

“**No. Absolutely not. I won't see a student get stuck in his work by such outdated prejudices. Not as long as I'm a teacher at this school. No, I won't!**”

Flitwick spring to his feet and walked to his office. Albus knew very well what he was going to do there, but he looked innocent and genuinely curious.

"**What are you doing, Professor?**”

“**I'm giving you clearance for the Restricted Section. I want you to continue your research, Mr. Dumbledore. The world grows greater with every paper you publish.**”

“**But if Umbrdige finds out...**”

“**If Professor Umbridge has a problem with that, she can come to me and talk about it!**”

Obviously Albus had awakened something rebellious and bubbling in the old professor, and it was with an almost childishly guilty smile that Flitwick handed him a small piece of paper covered with his fine handwriting.

_I, the undersigned Filius Flitwick, authorize the pupil Albus Dumbledore to have access to the Restricted Section for the purpose of his personal research._

_Signed February 14, 1996_

_F.F._

Albus forced himself not to look too ecstatic when he put the precious piece of parchment in his bag.

"**Thank you very much, Professor. I really hope this research leads to something.**”

“**I'm sure it will, Mr. Dumbledore. And I want you to know that, in any case, you can always count on me. I know that whatever you do, it will always be a worthy fight to join.**”

When, half an hour later, Albus left the classroom, he wondered how hard his alter-ego had had to work to have so many persons convinced body and soul to follow him. After all, were they really that different from Grindelwald and his followers?

He spent the rest of the day in the Restricted Section, and did not return until late at night to the Common Room, only to find Harry grieved in a corner with Hermione.

“**What's going on?**" he asked as he sat down with them.

For his part, his day had been relatively pleasant, but he was worried that Harry had encountered some difficulties that would have an impact on him. Fortunately, Hermione quickly reassured him.

"**His date with Cho didn't go as well as expected?**”

“**Oh, it didn't? I’m sincerely sorry for you, Harry.**”

“**Everything was going well, then she told me about Roger and how he'd invited her two weeks ago.**”

“**Oh, she wanted to make you jealous.**”

Harry lifted up his astonished eyes at him, and turned his head from him to Hermione.

"**Have you two spread the word between you?**”

“**What word?**”

“**Hermione also said she wanted to make me jealous.**”

“**But it's obvious, Harry,**" Hermione whispered exasperated. “**You never should have told her you had a meeting with me.**”

“**You did tell her that, Harry? Why would you do something like that!**”

“**But because it was the truth! I had to meet with Hermione!**”

“**That's not a reason,**" Albus preached rightly. “**You then can’t be surprised if she gets jealous and tries to test your feelings for her.**”

Albus remembered very well the time when he announced at the last moment to Gellert that he could not join him in the afternoon because he had to go shopping for his family. When Gellert had realised that the milk seller was far from repulsive, he had insisted on following Albus everywhere and not letting go of him, while covering him with reproving and offended looks. Not to mention the fact that he had spent the night on the concoction of a potion capable of ravaging the merchant's beautiful face with pustules. Albus had to admit that he hadn't been unhappy to realize that he was capable of making Gellert jealous. Rather, he saw it as a token of affection, and in his opinion, Harry shouldn't undermine himself for so little.

“**Since when do you know so much about girls?**" finally asked Harry, who obviously still didn't understand how Cho's reactions should have been predictable.

“**You'd be surprised how successful Albus is with girls.**”

“**Really?**"

It was the two boys who had just choked in their surprise. Hermione, for her part, just looked up at their blindness.

"**Yes. He's intelligent, mysterious, powerful, and rather handsome. Of course the girls are very interested in him. There's even a race between Megan Jones of Hufflepuff and Mandy Brocklehurst of Ravenclaw to see which one of them will go out with him first.**”

“**What are we talking about here?**”

It was Gellert's voice echoing behind them. He had obviously finished his detention with Umbridge and had just returned. Albus, particularly embarrassed by the conversation in progress, hurried to intervene before Hermione could say anything.

"**About nothing, Gellert. Nothing at all. How was your detention?**”

“**As usual, what question is that…**”

Gellert fell on the couch next to Albus and Albus took his bloody hand and poured a few drops of a healing potion of his own invention into it.

"**Why do you look so glum, Harry?**”

“**It's nothing. My Valentine's Day date went quite badly.**”

“**Valentine's Day? You’re celebrating that?**”

“**Of course,**" Hermione said. “**It's a great opportunity to tell your better half that you love her.**”

“**As if we need the government's permission to love. I don't intend to wait for the trivial days for that. That's silly, isn't it, Albus?**”

Albus just shrugged his shoulders. Yes, deep down he knew it was silly. And his heart didn't pinch at all every time he saw a couple coming back from Hogsmeade with eyes full of love. No. He didn't mind. He didn't mind at all.

His thoughts - which weren't gloomy at all - were interrupted by the arrival of Ron and Ginny, covered in mud from head to toe, visibly back from their Quidditch training.

“**So, how did it go?**" Albus asked to divert everyone's attention from the conversation, which had degenerated almost as soon as it had started.

“**It was awful,**" mumbled Ron, "**I suck. I want to quit. For the sake of the team.**”

And with these eloquent words, he shot into an armchair and went upstairs to bed without a word. Ginny, who was following him closely, looked just as depressed.

"**He's, uh... he's not very good, really. He can stop a couple of goals when no one's looking at him, but for next Saturday's game, he's a goner. He's never gonna be able to block anything.**”

Harry looked sad to hear the news. Quidditch obviously meant a lot to him, and not playing it again must have been heartbreaking. But as Ginny walked away to the showers, Albus was forced to remember that it had allowed Gellert to set one of his plans in motion, and so he should not complain about the events that had led them to this situation. A few minutes later, it was Angelina Johnson who came in, in an even worse state than the previous two players. When she saw the small group they formed in front of the fireplace, she rushed towards them and more precisely towards Gellert. Carried away by her momentum, she almost fell on him but stopped just in time.

"**Where have you been?**”

“**Detention, I already told you.**”

Angelina, visibly inhabited by despair, fell to her knees on the soft carpet of the common room and took both of Gellert's hands in hers.

"**Look, you've got to save our asses! I've seen you fly, and you're our last hope! On Saturday, you've got to win this game!**”

“**Don't worry, Johnson. Our supremacy will be complete and total.**”

He had just said that with such confidence in his smile that a glimmer of hope began to shine in Angelina's eyes.

"**Really? So, come on, we need to rethink our strategies, since you couldn't make it today.**”

“**No, I'm sorry. I just remembered I have something very important to do tonight.**”

“**But who cares about homework? The game's in a week!**”

“**It's not homework. It's much more important than that! Look, Johnson, trust me. We'll win. But right now, I gotta go.**”

And he didn't explain himself further. He got up, walked around the crouching captain and left the Common Room in a hurry.

"**Curfew is in twenty minutes,**" Hermione blew. “**I hope he doesn't get Gryffindor into trouble...**”

Apart from this event, the evening went quietly. Ron and Ginny did not reappear. The Weasley twins were too bewildered by the abysmal level of their team to indulge in their usual heckling - much to Hermione's delight, and Harry himself, depressed as he was, resolved to do his homework in the hope of getting it all out of his head. Albus offered to help him, which the boy gladly accepted. After all, it was the only way he could get more than D in his potion essay. The two young men sat down on a secluded table and set to work. As they went along, Harry began to talk about other events, such as Cho, or the interview he had given for The Quibbler. Albus could only applaud Hermione for this masterful idea. It was high time to offer the world an alternative version than The Daily Prophet’s one. It was almost midnight when the two boys finished their Potion assignment, as well as their Charm and Transfiguration ones.

"**For the Divination, you'll have to ask Gellert. I can't help you with that.**”

“**Oh, I don't need help. All I have to do is make up a ton of tragedies and Trewlaney's happy. Anyway, I don't have a third eye, so there's no point in trying.**”

“**I'm not gonna argue with you. There's a reason I've taken every option but Divination. There are so few seers. It's laughable to make an entire subject out of it.**”

“**Is Grindelwald really one? I mean, a seer.**”

“**Yes, he is. Since 1885, he's been able to predict the atomic bomb. And all his visions eventually came true.**”

“**I don't know if that's a cool gift to have or not.**”

“**You'll have to ask him about that.**”

“**I'd rather not ask him any question. Must have something to do with him being a genocidal tyrant and all that...**”

Gellert's lover shrugged his shoulders at this mention. It wasn't as if he could answer much.

"**... That being said, if he's able to make us win our match against Hufflepuff, I'm willing to revise my judgment of him.**”

Albus wondered for a moment whether this remark made him feel that Harry was profoundly foolish or profoundly sympathetic. All in all, it seemed that Gellert's plan was working perfectly. Gryffindor's tower would really be conquered if he could win the damn game.

Later that evening, Albus found himself alone, lying on his bed. It had been dark for a long time, and the dormitory was rocked by the snoring sounds of the other boys who were fast asleep. For his part, the genie couldn't sleep. His thoughts were on fire and his readings of the day were swirling in his head and he was unable to calm down. He was happy to have access to the Restricted Section now, but that was only the beginning of his quest for knowledge. And the two projects he was working on, Neville's parents and Voldemort's mind, were both huge enough to keep him busy for the rest of the year. However, he felt that at least one of them, the one about Voldemort, owed his eventual success more to luck than to his intellectual abilities. He just had to find the right book out of the thousands that made up the Restricted Section.

"**Albus?**”

The mentioned boy was startled to hear his name whispered in the middle of the night. He opened the curtains a little, and immediately saw Gellert in the opening of the dormitory door. He had finally come back!

“**What's the matter,**" he said.

“**Come.**”

“**Come where?**”

“**Come, I’m telling you**.”

“**Gellert, it's almost 2:00 in the morning...**”

“**I won't ask you a third time.**”

Albus hesitated for a moment. He wanted to follow Gellert, but he didn't want to get dragged into one of those bad situations that his lover was so good at creating. However, he didn't have a chance to think any further, because Gellert, sighing, crossed the distance between them, took his arm and pulled him forward. Albus stumbled out of bed, but soon realized he had no choice. His lover, with his free hand, had just taken the Cloak of Invisibility magically hidden in the pillow and they left the dormitory. Albus began to worry when Gellert covered them both with the Cloak and passed the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"**Where are we going, Gellert?**”

“**You'll find out. Now shh, the cloak doesn't block sound.**”

The two boys advanced into the castle prudently. They met several teachers who were doing their rounds, but avoided them skilfully and silently, descending further and further downstairs. However, Albus became really worried when they broke through the protective walls of the castle and went out into the dark and windy night. Protected by the darkness, the young man threw away the cloak and faced his lover.

"**Gellert, tell me where we're going!**”

His tone was imperious, but he calmed down immediately when Gellert approached him, just a few centimetres between their faces.

"**Albus. Do you trust me?**”

“**Y-yes...**”

“**Then follow me.**”

And with these words, Gellert took his hand and ran off into the night. After a while, Albus realized they were heading for the boathouse, just after the many steps down the hillside where the school stood. They finally arrived at the small shed, and Gellert quickly put a boat in the water. Without a word, he helped Albus to climb up and then, with a wave of his wand, silently slid the boat over the black, shimmering water of the lake. They advanced calmly, the surface splitting in two as they passed. Albus wanted to repeat his question, but he soon felt a tingling sensation on his skin, which was always the characteristic sign of magic nearby. He was almost sure, they were going through a concealment spell.

And, the second following this reflection, he saw a fairy-tale setting appear before his astonished eyes.

In the middle of the lake, a platform on piles, made of black wood, had been created. From each of its corners rose thin dark column, covered with moving garlands that looked like thousands of dancing fireflies. In the centre of the space, a round table stood, illuminated by the soft glow of a single violet candle, whose soft flame flickered in the wind. On the water, a multitude of white petals lazily swayed about. Moon rays reflected on them and created multitudes of silvery arcs, iridescent with light. Finally, a warm, dry air, perfumed with lavender and redcurrant, spread its sides around Albus, completely ignoring the antinomy it provoked with this nocturnal landscape beaten by the wind.

"**What the...**" Albus whispered.

But that was about all he could say.

"**Do you really think I didn't see your devastated face when I said I didn't celebrate Valentine's Day.**”

“**I... I wasn't devastated.**”

Gellert had a little laugh that sent butterflies flying into Albus' stomach.

"**Oh, yes. You were.**”

“**I thought you didn't like this day.**”

“**I don't. I find it stupid and insulting.”**

“**But...**” stammered Albus without understanding.

“**But it's important to you. Therefore, it's important to me too. Happy Valentine's Day, Albus.**”

Breathless with emotion, hands trembling and eyes shining, Albus turned to Gellert. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel. All he wanted was to get lost forever in those mismatched eyes, and never find his way back. Then he breathed out the only words that still had any meaning in his shaken mind.

"**I love you, Gellert.**”

Gellert laughed a little, which did not hide his discomfort, and if it wasn't so dark, Albus could almost believe that he had seen him blush. The Germanic boy raised his eyes to the sky, scratched the back of his head to give himself consistency, and finally, with that provocative but sincere smile that Albus loved so much, he answered in a low voice:

"**It must be said that I am very loveable...**"

And Albus heard very well the "I love you too, Albus" that this sentence concealed so badly.

* * *

* * *

Ron looked like he was about to faint. He hadn't touched his breakfast and his face was so livid and feverish that Albus was worried that he would regurgitate on his plate.

"**How could I have got myself into this situation? I'm an idiot... But maybe if I leave now, if I change schools...**”

“**Don't be silly, Ron,**” Hermione told him diplomatically. “**I'm sure you'll play very well. You just need to trust yourself a little.**”

“**Yes, that's right, play very well. Just like last practice, am I right?**”

“**He fell off his broom,**” told Ginny with a sorry look on his face and almost as dismayed as his brother's.

Ron mumbled something that sounded more like a cry of distress than a properly formulated thought and began trying to hide behind a pitcher of pumpkin juice. It was obvious that Harry was having trouble empathizing. The young man would have given anything to be able to play the game, and being left out of it was causing him great pain. However, like a good friend, he tried to pat Ron awkwardly on the back with compliments he didn't believe in himself.

Albus, on the other hand, didn't care about any of this. All he could think of was that less than three feet away from him was Gellert, dressed in his Quidditch uniform. The red and gold dress was looking ravishing on him, highlighting his indomitable hair and leaving little room for imagination regarding his finely muscled and delicately sculpted shoulders, like one of those Renaissance status. Albus didn't really know whether he was jealous that any pupil passing by would be able to enjoy the view, or whether he was just incredibly proud that it was him that the handsomest student in the school dated. After a while, though, he began to wonder if this line of thought was worthy of the great genius he was, but Gellert leaned over to grab the pitcher Ron was hiding behind and, intoxicated by the wild smell of the forest and the wind, Albus forgot all about his concerns.

So it was with a cheerful step that he went out with Harry, Hermione and the Weasley twins to Quidditch Field. He had never liked this sport. When he'd been a student at Hogwarts - a real student - he'd proudly disdained it. He aspired to higher goals than putting a ball in a circle, which for him was kindergarten-worthy exercise. Elphias had tried to pass on his passion for sport, but it had been in vain, and Albus had spent those games locked away in the library. But today things were different. He had an excuse not to let Gellert out of his sight for as long as the match lasted. For the occasion, he even wore a red and gold scarf and a badge with the team emblem.

“**I hope we don't make too much of a fool of ourselves,**" moaned Harry, obviously very unhappy.

“**For Ron, it's too late,**" said George, reluctant to protect his little brother, "**but Gellert flies very well. With a little luck...**"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed to indicate her displeasure to everyone. Gellert's aerial prowess had begun to make its way around the school, and the hearts of the Gryffindors had consequently been more receptive. They had not yet fallen in love with Grindelwald, but they were most likely one victory away from complete conquest. And Hermione must have felt it and lamented it. For her, sport was certainly no reason to forget years of atrocities. If only she knew that this was exactly Gellert's plan when he joined the team. On the other hand, Albus could understand her. It was ridiculous to forget a World War for something as trivial as sport. But they were children, who had never been through any war, and for whom a few pictures in a history book, no matter how atrocious, were not worth a glittering cup.

"**Here, there's seats here.**”

They had just reached the field and were currently climbing the bleachers. They finally found a free spot and Albus slipped in between the twins, tightening his scarf around his neck to protect himself from the icy wind.

"**Oh, no, look who's here.**”

Albus followed Harry's finger with his eyes, which pointed, dismayed, to a small pink silhouette a few rows ahead of them. Umbridge was there, right next to them. And as if she had heard them, she turned to them and offered them her unbearable little girl smile.

“**We're going to be humiliated,**" Fred let go, having lost his usual cheerful air.

“**We're going to be okay, don't worry.**”

But before anyone could question Albus about his bold statement, a clamour rose from the crowd and both teams entered the pitch. The spectators cheered en masse Hufflepuff as the Slytherin gathered against their arch-enemy. Gryffindor fans, defeated in advance, were cheering softly for their team, some of them not even willing to look at the pitch, afraid of the humiliation ahead. But Albus, for his part, could not help but be thrilled. His gaze immediately fell on Gellert's small figure, attracted as he was by that golden hair that had the unfortunate tendency to redirect all the surrounding light towards it.

The two team captains shook hands, and when the whistle blew, the players flew away. It didn't take long for the spectators to realize that something was happening on the field.

"**The Quaffle comes into play. Johnson catches it. She progresses, she progresses, and she passes it to Spinet who passes it... and no, the Quaffle is intercepted by Cadwallader who goes in the other direction, he drops the ball which is caught by Zacharias Smith. Smith comes up the field from the right, avoids a Bludger and he TAKES A SHOT AND...!! MISSED!!! Grindelwald hits the ball before it reaches the goalie. What incredible luck. The Quaffle is then retrieved by Katie Bell, who rushes up the field, she makes a pass to Johnson who approaches the goal and... NOOO, unfortunately, a Bludger sent by Rickett makes her lose the ball, but... WHAT... Grindelwald, who was underneath, has just kicked the Quaffle sending it straight into the goal! POINT FOR GRYFFINDOR! TEN TO ZERO !!! WHAT AN INCREDIBLE START TO THE GAME!! Fleet, the Hufflepuff keeper, takes the ball back. He sends it to Zacharias Smith, who passes it to Cadwallader and... OH NO ! Cadwallader has just been hit by a Bludger thrown by his own team's Beater. Apparently, the Bludger was sent in the direction of Grindelwald, but the latter avoided it at the last moment so Cadwallader took the blow! But that's incredible! What a match, my friends, what a match!** »

Albus had a little smile behind his scarf. His lover's plan was working perfectly. The long nights spent training hard were paying off. The crowd was in awe. Gellert seemed to be all over the field, taking on every role, imposing himself in every situation. He flew with incredible grace and speed on the Firebolt that Albus had given him for Christmas. His impressive agility, as well as his almost suicidal daring, made him do the most impressive and unexpected high-flying pirouettes, completely bewildering his opponents, as well as his comrades, so much so that at times he gave the impression of playing alone. Gellert had always had the gift of becoming the centre of everything he touched in record time. And this team was not above the rules. In just a few minutes he asserted his dominance and found himself the only star of the game, eclipsing all the other students. As Gryffindor was leading ninety to zero, the entire crowd was chanting his name, the Gryffindors were indubitably conquered. Even the Ravenclaw had rallied behind them, and a few Slytherin, who must surely have been from Grindelwald’s Army, dared to show where their enthusiasm lay. Albus couldn't help but be proud of his lover. Of course, he had managed to conquer hearts. He did it every single time.

The match went on and on. Albus suspected that Gellert was deliberately ignoring the snitch to sustain his glory. But finally, after a good two hours of absolute domination, he stung straight down to the ground, under the burning murmurs of a captivated crowd, and at the last second, effortlessly defeating the Hufflepuff’s Catcher, who had woken up far too late, he grabbed the Golden Snitch between his skilful fingers. The field exploded with exclamations. Fans roared in every direction, shouting the name of Grindelwald. Gellert flew in a circle over the heads of the spectators, proudly displaying his golden ball with a smile as victorious as it was jaded. Soon, he was overwhelmed by the embrace of Angelina Johnson. The team carried him in triumph to the ground, where they lost themselves in their joy of having won despite all hope.

Victorious too, Albus turned to his comrades. Fred and George were ecstatic, chanting the name of Grindelwald, even Harry had a smile bigger than his face, and sent happy little gestures of hand towards a raging Umbridge. Only Hermione looked sullen. Of course, she was beginning to understand the plan they had all along. And she was forced to note, to her great sadness, that it had worked beyond all hope.

The evening meal took place in great bliss. All the Gryffindors were gathered around them and kept bombarding Gellert with questions and compliments. Grindelwald, who flourished under all this attention and love, took care to respond to each one, bewitching them more and more with his charms and smiles. Albus, sitting proudly next to his lover, glanced at the teachers' table. McGonagall was holding back with great difficulty, but it was obvious that her heart was strongly divided between her dislike of Grindelwald and her joy at the victory. Umbridge was less equivocal in her emotions, she was trembling with rage. She stared angrily at Gellert's back and mumbled between her teeth, probably some words not worthy of a teacher. Snape was livid and almost as enraged as her. It was obvious that he was already eager to assist to the humiliation of the Gryffindors and now he looked as if his present had been stolen on Christmas Eve. Finally, Dumbledore stared at the ceiling, whistling, as if he didn't even know what had happened that morning. But when Albus crossed his eyes for a split second, he thought he saw the shadow of a wink on this tired, dreamy face.

The Gryffindors returned early to their Common Room to continue their party away from the professors' gaze. The Weasley twins had managed to bring back from Hogsmeade some beers and sweets of all kinds which they had spread out on a makeshift buffet. All the students nibbled and laughed as they recounted the most memorable moments of the game to each other in great detail. Albus tried to stay as long as he could, but he was not happy with all the commotion, and although he was delighted with the success of his lover, he finally told him that he was going to bed.

"**Already? All right, all right, I'm coming.**”

“**No, stay, enjoy your victory.**”

“**Without you? No point.**”

“**Sorry, Gellert. It's just that all that noise...**”

“**I get it. Besides, the basis of love is desire. How can I make myself desire if I'm with them all the time.**”

Already blushing at the thought of what he was going to say, Albus leaned timidly over Gellert's ear.

"**Believe me, you're very good at making yourself desired no matter what you do.**”

“**Albus! Are we getting bold, now?**”

Albus shrugged his shoulders and headed for the stairs. The two boys took them up and, leaving the hubbub of the Common Room behind them, rose in a gradual calm.

"**Well, well, that worked.**”

“**Who would have thought that it only took something as simple as sport to make them all love you.**”

“**I told you, Al'. They wanted so much to love me already. All they needed was a reason to make it socially acceptable.**”

Albus pushed open the door with a chuckle, but the second he entered the dormitory he saw that something was wrong. Harry was already in bed, and, tangled in his blankets, he seemed to be fighting an invisible enemy. He moaned and whispered and wiggled around, visibly caught up in a very turbulent dream.

"**Do you think..**." Gellert asked.

“**Yes, I do.**"

Without further words, Albus crossed the dormitory to sit on Harry's bed. He had been waiting for an opportunity like this to try to learn more about this famous phenomenon, he wasn't going to let his chance slip away. He put his hands on the burning temples of the boy lying down and closed his eyes.

Immediately, a vision hit him hard. He was standing in a dark room, having a big argument with a man kneeling in front of him. But he did not pay the slightest attention to what was being said. No, he didn't give a damn about it. He knew he had little time, he had to be efficient. He looked around for... yes, over there. He could see a mirror. He scanned as best he could, and unsurprisingly he saw a long, white figure with glowing red eyes and a black cloak. He expected this vision, but he had to make sure. Well, now was his chance to test his theory. Albus concentrated and spread the Legilimency around him. Yes, it was just as he'd sensed. It wasn't just a vision through Voldemort's eyes. He was Voldemort. He could feel his mind, see his thoughts around him. Like if his own brain was in communion with the Dark Lord's brain. As if his own brain and the Dark Lord's brain... ...were one. At the moment this realization formed itself in his thoughts, he felt as if he had hit a huge stone wall, and he found himself being propelled into his own body.

Voldemort must have sensed it, and he'd set up defences accordingly. Albus opened his eyes, panting. He had understood! Finally, he had understood! Harry waved by his side and painfully raised his lost gaze to him.

"**Albus?**”

The door opened behind them and Ron walked in.

"**Uh, what's going on here?**”

“**Nothing,**" Albus said as he straightened up. “**Harry looked like he was having a nightmare, so I tried to wake him up.**”

“**Harry? It was... it was a...**”

“**Yes**.”

“**Was it about my father? Is he in danger?!**”

Ron immediately took Albus' place near his friend, visibly frightened. Harry tried as best he could to tell him his vision, in hesitant and disjointed words. For his part, Albus got up and walked out of the dormitory. Once outside, he leaned into a recess that offered him some privacy. Gellert quickly joined him there.

"**Albus? What did you see?**”

“**It's not part of Voldemort's mind. No, it's more-- I can't describe it, but it's-- It's more.**”

“**It's his body?**”

“**No... it's... it's...**”

“**His soul?**”

“**His soul! A part of Voldemort's soul lives in Harry!**”

Gellert hit him quickly, indicated him to keep quiet. Half a second later, Hermione appeared on the stairs.

"**Ah, you’re here. Good night!**”

“**Good night.**” the boys mumbled.

They waited for the young woman to pass before them, and Gellert leaned over Albus.

"**What do you mean, his soul?**”

“**I've seen it somewhere before! I'm sure I have! I've seen it before! It's called... Ah! It's not coming back to me! But I've heard of it before!**”

“**In the Restricted Section?**”

“**No, in Flamel's library... But... But it must be possible to find it in the Restricted Section... Come on, quick!**”

Albus ran down the stairs and Gellert followed him without hesitation. They sneaked through the crowded Common Room and arrived in a deserted corridor. Without further ado, Albus ran out towards the library, obviously not caring that he could be seen outside after curfew. However, they were lucky and made it to the library safely. A quick Alohomora opened the way for them, and they went down between the shelves until they reached the Restricted Section. Albus seemed to hesitate for a moment, then rushed to a shelf.

"**If it's in the Restricted Section, we'll find it here...**"

He then began to mumble to himself as he looked through the books at full speed. Gellert pretended to look too, but he had no idea what to pay attention to, so he quickly gave up. After a while, however, with a victorious shout, Albus pointed to a book. It was small and untitled, chained to its shelf like a particularly dangerous prisoner.

"**That's the book I read in. I'm sure it is.**”

The young man took out his wand and pointed it at the book. A simple Alohomora had no effect, but it was underestimating Albus to think he would stop there. After a few increasingly complex and brilliant spells, he finally managed to undo the chains and seize the books. He quickly flipped through the few pages of the volume and finally showed Gellert a passage. Gellert approached and squinted his eyes to decipher what was written in spite of the darkness.

"**The Horcruxes?**”


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> A bit late, I know, but I do have a real excuse this time. Read bellow.
> 
> No beta reading for this chapter, sorry.

_So, my excuse. Had to write it here cause it's a bit long._  


_I was in a bit of a "crisis" concerning Harry Potter. With the last tweets of JKR, I didn't recognized myself in this world anymore. What JKR said and the opinion she defend are very serious. As a non-binary person who has been bullied through nearly my entire schooling because of it, I felt deeply hurt by those words and I know very well how dangerous they can be. The fact that JKR allowed herself to say she is an ally of the trans community, while defending that opinion is beyond me. As a matter of fact, things like gendering correctly and validate gender indentity, can reduce by twice the risk of suicide attempt among young trans people (let's not forget that, according to a study made in 2013, the pourcentage of suicidal idealization for trans people between 16 and 26 is of 69% against 20% for cis people). Misgendering and gender criticism actually KILL people._

_So I was in a difficult position. I love Harry Potter but, obviously, the values and lessons I discovered in those pages aren't the one JKR planned to share, and I don't want to go watch movies or read books made by this woman (in other terme, I don't want to participate in giving her any kind of influence if it's what she attend to do with it). So, the question of this fanfic was a bit tricky. _

_And then, I read what others had to say about it. For exemple, Katie Leung, Eddie Redmayne or Emma Watson (or Halsey <3) had share their thoughts on the issue and firmely stand by the side of trans people. And, most importantly, Daniel Radcliffe had written a long text for the site of the trevor project, defending trans people. And he said that : "To all the people who now feel that their experience of the books has been tarnished or diminished, I am deeply sorry for the pain these comments have caused you. I really hope that you don’t entirely lose what was valuable in these stories to you. If these books taught you that love is the strongest force in the universe, capable of overcoming anything; if they taught you that strength is found in diversity, and that dogmatic ideas of pureness lead to the oppression of vulnerable groups; if you believe that a particular character is trans, nonbinary, or gender fluid, or that they are gay or bisexual; if you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred. And in my opinion nobody can touch that.". And I thought to myself... he is f*cking right. Harry Potter belongs to us. JKR wrote it, but we made it our own. By reading, by feeling, by imagining. What I have learn in Harry Potter, no one can take it away from me. And, then, my problem was solved. This is our fandom. And our world. And our stories. Let's write fanfictions, les gens. And if you don't want to write, then let's read them. And if you're not willing to do that, then let's dream, and imagine, and think about it. For me, what we're creating is as legit as what is in the books. The things we decide to make true in our mind, it doesn't change a thing if it's JKR who wrote them, or Draco4Ever123. It's only between ourselves and our inner world._

_So, I decided to continue my fanfic. Cause I enjoy writting it. And if some of you enjoy reading it, then it's worth being published._

_But, if any of you want to know more about this story and the problem behind, I can only advice you to look up the videos by the trans woman youtuber Jessie Gender called JK Rowling Transphobia Explained (A rant) and Breaking Down JK Rowling's Transphobic Essay. In that order. Those really enlighted me._

_And, because her support meant so much to me, and because I love her, and, well, just because, here's the title of my favorite song by Halsey : Control_

_Anyway, back to what really matters._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 13**

"**What does that mean, I don't understand...**"

Gryffindor's Fifth Year was in the company of the Slytherin in the dungeons during one of Snape's endless lessons. Gellert had decided to take advantage of the muffled boiling of the cauldrons and the different noises of the preparers, to discuss in a low voice with his lover. They were both bent over their own mixture. Albus was busy delicately pouring the hellebore syrup as the liquid took on a very promising turquoise hue. Gellert, for his part, was content to evacuate the vapours with his wand. He didn't have his friend's talent for potions. Generally speaking, he had never been very good at following instructions, even in the form of recipes. There were only a few areas in which he was even less gifted than in cooking, so it took less than three days of living with his great-aunt Bathilda for her to banish him from the kitchen for good. An unfortunate story of a fire starting during the preparation of a Greek salad. In potion, however, he knew how to get by relatively well - better than all the incapable ones who served him as classmates - but he preferred to leave it all to his lover. Together they made a good team, and they were a good half-hour ahead of the rest of the pairs. So Gellert thought it was time to address a slightly more important topic that they had not had the opportunity to address since the first mention. Albus didn't need more explanation to understand what he was being asked about, however, he took the time to turn his mixture several times before daring to answer.

"**I don't know. It's a very complex and very dark magic that I don't master at all. And that's not the kind of subject you can ask about.**”

Snape walked past them and the two boys pretended to dive into their cauldron, but as soon as the teacher walked away, Gellert resumed his questions.

"**But what exactly do you know?**”

“**It's a form of magic which purpose is immortality. The person who practices it splits his soul in two, and places half of his soul in an object. So even if his body dies, the person will remain alive as long as his Horcrux is intact.**”

“**And he put it in Harry? But that's the worst move to make. Why did he put his soul into the body of a boy who not only is his enemy, but also spends ten months a year with old Dumbledore? And why try to kill him if Harry offers him immortality?**”

“**I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe he doesn't know Harry's a Horcrux.**”

“**Is that possible?**”

“**I don't know. I have no idea. I never tested, obviously. But I guess that if half your soul was somewhere else, you'd have to feel it, though, right?**”

This remark left Gellert pensive, as he passed the cooked mandrake to Albus with one absent hand. The latter dipped it in their mixture, which took on a pretty red hue. Hermione, two tables away, cast a desperate glance at them, visibly wanting only one thing: to catch up with them. She had been top of the class for too long to avoid suffering from being relegated to third place. Gellert winked at her charmingly, but he continued to whisper to Albus in a much heavier, lower voice.

"**Do you think old Dumbledore knows?**”

“**It took me six months to figure it out, and it's not even a question that interests me that much. He's got to know it, somehow.**”

“**Yet he is not doing much about it, it seems to me. Unless... unless that's why he's avoiding Harry.**”

“**Avoiding Harry?**”

“**Yeah, Harry's been going on and on about it. He's under the impression Dumbledore was ignoring him. Maybe it has something to do with this Horcrux thing.**”

“**If Harry is indeed a Horcrux...**”

“**...and you're sure he is, right?**”

“**...okay. Since Harry is a Horcrux, we can safely assume that his connection to Voldemort is mutual. Voldemort should then be able to get into Harry's mind as well. On that basis, it is not foolish for the headmaster to consider it more prudent to keep some distance. In order not to give information to the enemy.**”

“**Yeah, but if it ostracizes Harry and makes him feel more isolated, I'm not sure it's the right thing to do.**”

“**Mr. Dumbledore, Mr. Grindelwald...**"

Gellert had spoken a little louder, obviously very disapproving of Harry's treatment, and Snape must have heard them. His slim, long silhouette slowly approached them and with his deliberately scornful eyes he began to scrutinize them wickedly. Up until now, Snape had always kept quite a distance from Gellert and Albus. The two boys, undisputed geniuses, gave him no reason to complain and he must have felt that it would be more complicated to go after them than the other Gryffindors. So the three of them had politely ignored each other. But since the Quidditch match, Snape's contempt for Grindelwald had only grown exponentially. And now he seemed delighted with the pretext offered to attack them.

"**It doesn't seem to me that you're talking about your potion, gentlemen. Perhaps you would be willing to inform the whole class about the topic of your discussion. I'm sure we'd be very interested.**”

Albus gritted his teeth at the remark. Provocation was never a good technique with Gellert. He answered every time. So he was not surprised when his lover simply shrugged his shoulders with great honesty.

"**We were talking about Voldemort's plans and what Professor Dumbledore might be hiding from us about them.**”

Clearly, no one had expected such candour. Whispers and bursts of fear stirred the class at the hearing of the name and everyone stared at Grindelwald with big eyes. Snape, on the other hand, seemed bewildered by this mention and, with a pale face, he quickly tried to regain control.

"**This is neither the time nor the place for such a topic of conversation, Mr. Grindelwald. Especially since I don't think you can understand what you're talking about.**”

“**If not now, then when? It's a matter of life and death. I think that takes precedence over potion class.**”

“**But no one is interested in your opinion, Mr. Grindelwald.**”

“**You'd be surprised how many people are interested in it, as a matter of fact.**”

“**Typical Gryffindor arrogance.**”

“**And Slytherins are known for their humility.**”

“**Thirty points from your house, Mr. Grindelwald. And if I hear one more word that isn't related to your draught of peace, it'll be a detention.**”

Furious, Snape turned around and headed straight for a frightened Neville to vent his frustration on him. Albus, for his part, contented himself with casting a reproving glance at his lover, while continuing to mix his potion over a low heat.

"**What?**" finally exclaimed Gellert.

“**I should be the one asking! Why'd you do that? What’s the point?**”

“**He is beginning to exasperate me with his superior and contemptuous airs.**”

“**Oh, yeah. Because you're never superior or contemptuous.**”

“**I may have many flaws. But I've never used a position of authority to martyr those who have to listen to me. I mean, Snape's a teacher! And look how he treats half his students just because they’re wearing red ties.**”

Albus sighed. He knew that the confrontation between Snape and Gellert was now inexorable. Snape represented everything his lover hated in authority. However, Grindelwald had refrained from doing anything because of his esteem for the skills of the potion master, and the fact that the two men cordially avoided each other. But since the match, Snape had been more and more confrontational, and it was high time for Gellert to respond on equal terms. So Albus tried hard to send the conversation back to the Horcruxes, but he knew that this only delayed the inevitable.

"**I don't know if there's a way to destroy it without killing Harry. The Horcrux, I mean. There has to be a possibility, but I have to do more research. And it's not like I'm buried under information about the Horcruxes at Hogwarts.**”

“**If there's a way, Dumbledore must have found it by now. Otherwise, it means he's counting on Harry dying to kill Voldemort.**”

“**You think it's possible? Do you think he can really plan Harry's death?**”

“**You tell me, Al. He is your future after all... But look at him!**”

Gellert's attention was once again focused on Snape, who was bent over Harry's cauldron, and engaged in a series of disparaging remarks designed primarily to make the Slytherin laugh.

"**Gellert,**" Albus mumbled as softly as he could so as not to be heard, "**let's drop it. It's not worth the trouble to...**”

“**Tell me, Professor, can I ask you a question?**”

Snape straightened up and his cold black eyes froze into Grindelwald's eyes. He didn't answer, but that didn't stop the young man from continuing.

"**I was wondering, why do you hate Potter?**”

The question was confusingly honest. In five years of school, everyone had been able to appreciate the animosity between Harry and Snape, but no one had dared even think of asking the question so openly. And the fact that Gellert, the new idol of the Gryffindors, did so with such simplicity bring all attention on him.

"**What did I tell you just now, Grindelwald, about focusing your conversation on your potion?**”

“**To tell you the truth, I'm a great believer in the law of reciprocity of the universe. If you don't show us respect, I don't see what makes you think we'll show you respect in return. So, getting back to my question, why do you hate Potter? Is it because he's loved and popular? Everything you wish you could have been?**”

“**You should only be wandering about the things that concern you, Grindelwald.**”

Snape was white with fury. He had to feel that nothing he was able to do could get to the insolent student, and this greatly destabilized him, as he was accustomed to the absolute authority he had during his lessons. Gellert, on the other hand, was adamant.

"**It concerns me. Every day I witness an adult using his authority and status to bully a child. What you are doing is reprehensible from every points of view and I will not allow silence to make me an accomplice any longer.**”

“**He's right!**”

There was silence, and the whole class turned around, shocked.

It was Neville's broken voice that had just come up. Albus was stunned for a few moments. Standing, trembling from head to toe, but burning with determination, the frightened young boy had just stood up to the potion master. His face was tensed in a grimace of absolute conviction, and it was obvious that to oppose his greatest fear in this way would require him an incommensurable effort out of him. But that keeping quiet was even more unbearable for him. Never, at the beginning of the year, would Neville have had the courage to do that. The D.A. had truly transformed the boy.

"**Yes, it's true!**" exclaimed Dean Thomas. “**It's not fair the way you treat him!**”

“**Harry has done nothing to deserve this!" added Parvati. “You have no right to take it out on him like that!**”

“**Yeah, it's not fair!**”

Clearly, Gellert's few words had ignited something that had been smouldering in the hearts of the Gryffindors for several years and required nothing more than a spark. The students were now standing and staring fiercely at Snape, sending their grievances to him in a furious manner. The situation had escalated rapidly, and now the class seemed on the verge of a riot. However, Snape was obviously not the kind of man who was easily overwhelmed by events. It took him a few seconds to be shaken, then he quickly recovered and, pulling out the wand, he cast a Silencio so powerful that all the students were silenced.

The absence of noise was heavy in this dark dungeon. The lazy boiling of the cauldrons made the scene even more suffocating. Gryffindor's students all looked at each other, their eyes filled with fury, but unable to say anything. The Slytherin, for their part, were already rejoicing at the idea of the punishment their comrades would receive. Only Malfoy and Nott were more mixed, as their allegiance to Grindelwald conflicted with their appreciation for Snape.

"**One hundred points from Gryffindor for this unacceptable behaviour. And since you want to express yourself so much, Patil, Thomas, Finnegan, and Longbottom, you will make me eighty centimetres of parchment on the processes of mental manipulation in Gellert Grindelwald's speeches during the Second World War. Grindelwald, tonight, you will go with me to the headmaster’s office. "**

All fell silent, but anger still bubbled in the eyes of the Gryffindors. When the lesson ended, Albus caught up with Gellert before he left for Divination.

"**It was stupid, why did you do it?**”

“**How about you? Why aren't you doing anything? You condone his behavior?**”

“**No, of course not, but...**”

“**But what? He is a teacher? Is that it? So that does mean he has every right?**”

“**No, listen, Gellert. I don't want to argue. If you think it was worth it, then I trust you.**”

“**It's not worth it, Al'. It's about what's right and what's wrong.**”

“**Uh... Gellert?**"

The two boys turned around and were relatively surprised to see Hermione behind them, who had obviously hurried to join them. She had put the books in her bag as best she could, and her hair was still ruffled from her run.

"**Look, Granger, if you're here to tell me to respect teachers, you don't have to come all the way down...**”

“**No, actually, I wanted to tell you that... I mean... it was the right thing to do... you did the right thing.**”

The two boys stared at the young woman for a moment. Did Hermione Granger really just incense an attack on a professor? She had to understand the surprise and incomprehension of her interlocutors, for she started blushing again:

"**Harry... I think Hogwarts is very difficult for him at the moment. It's obvious he'd like to be somewhere else. And Professor Snape, his potion classes, his Occlumency lessons, it does nothing to help him. I think by defending him like you did, in front of everyone, you made him feel a little less alone. So... thank you.**”

It was obvious that having to say "thank you" to Grindelwald made her suffer physically, but she nonetheless forced herself to look the boy straight in the eye as she uttered the word. Ending her sorrow, Gellert swept it all away with a weary hand gesture.

"**It's nothing. No need to thank me, it comes naturally to me. Well, I'd love to stay and receive praise, but I have Divination. So I'll see you later.**”

And on those words, he disappeared down a hallway.

“**He's always so modest when he gets compliments?**" Hermione let go as she brought her bag against her.

“**Oh, you have no idea, trust me.**”

* * *

* * *

If Gellert imagined that his altercation with Snape was going to be the only one of the day, he was sadly mistaken. A few minutes later, on his way to Divination, he caught up with Ron and Harry who were taking different paths from the usual.

"**Aren't you going to class?**”

“**Yes, of course. But Parvati told us that Firenze likes to give lecture on the first floor.**”

“**Firenze?**”

“**Yes, the substitute.**”

“**What substitute?** »

Harry and Ron stared at him for a long time, probably wondering if Gellert was making fun of them. Seeing some trace of innocence on his face, Ron finally explains.

"**Trelawney got fired. How could you have missed it! Umbridge threw her out in front of the whole school! Where were you that night?**”

“**Elsewhere, obviously.**”

Either doing research on the Horcruxes, or engaging in acts that Catholic morality condemns on the person of Albus. In both cases, although he didn't mind it himself, he guessed that it wasn't information he should share with Ron and Harry.

"**So Firenze is a well-known figure? A teacher we know?**”

“**I met him in my first year,**" Harry explained, frowning to bring back his memories. “**We met in the forbidden forest, he saved me in extremis that day. He was the first centaur I ever met. And the only one I really talk to. But I haven't seen him since.**”

“**A centaur?**" Gellert wondered. “**Teacher at Hogwarts? Have centaurs changed that much in a century?**”

“**What do you mean?**”

**“Well... in my day anyway... they were extremely proud creatures who were very fiercely against beings. Their herding life often excluded the rare representatives of their species who came a little too close to humans.**”

“**I think they're always a bit like that. I remember that when he saved me, he took me on his back to bring me back to Hagrid, and another centaur came and was furious that Firenze was carrying me like that and that he was opposing the decisions of the stars.**”

Gellert rolled his eyes. He had given much thought to the Centaur question and how to address it in his plan for total revolution. This had kept him awake for many nights, and he had finally come to the conclusion that it would probably be impossible for him to convert them. Grindelwald's strategies of persuasion were based on two things. Anger and empathy. He played on the anger of oppressed people, and on the empathy of oppressive people. This allowed him to cast a wide net, from purebloods to muggle-born, including also werewolves and giants. To those who had known only hatred and rejection, he taught them to see the beauty and dignity in themselves, and to those who had been born kings of the circle, he taught them that a greater destiny, eternal and magnificent, awaited them in a fight in the service of the other. In the end, Gellert had faith in his ability to convert any soul. After all, his dream was a noble one, and all were able to see it. But the centaurs... Neither anger nor empathy worked on them. They had become too detached from the others. Too detached from humanity to still be touched by Gellert's words. One would have to revolutionize their microcosm before one could hope to see them set themselves in motion for the macrocosm. Besides, of all the humans they could meet, Gellert was probably the one they hated the most. Ron had to see the exasperation on the Germanic boy’s face, for as they entered the classroom wing, he asked the question.

"**Don't you like centaurs?**”

“**It's quite the opposite. They don't like people like me.**”

“**What, humans?**”

Ron seemed a bit worried about alienating such an impressive teacher so early on, but Gellert reassured him with a shrug of his shoulders.

"**No, that's not what I mean. If he agreed to teach here, he must surely not hate humans. No, it's people like me they hate. The Seers. Centaurs worship the stars and read the general movements of fate and universe. They take people like me, those capable of seeing singular events, as particularly dangerous false prophets. This is a war of opinion between centaur seers and human seers. They are convinced that the future can only be read in the planets and that the stars don't care about individual destinies, and humans are certain that the future is too unstable and too constantly changing for something as heavy and mathematical as the stars to inform us of anything.** “

“**And who's right, then?**" asked Harry who was understanding very little of all this.

“**Me, of course. The others are idiots.**”

And it was with that spirit that Gellert entered the classroom. The latter had been laid out as a clearing that gave the impression of an outdoor classroom, and as the students settled down on the fat grass, Grindelwald could not help but notice that he preferred it to the incense-saturated atmosphere that surrounded Trelawney. Taking advantage of the agitation that goes along with the installation of the students, the young man observed the teacher for a moment. The centaur was sturdy and heavily built, like all representatives of his species, but his musculature drawn in detail under his coat hinted at great agility. He had blond hair nearly white and blue eyes almost as bright as Gellert's, though a darker shade. Its clear body and copper tail made it a striking creature to look at and the Germanic boy could easily guess that Parvati and Lavender were already very impressed by the new teacher. For his part, it was the first centaur he saw in person, but he had studied them enough in his spare time to not be so receptive to this strangeness.

Harry had not lied about their previous meeting, and Firenze took him aside to greet him with affectionate respect. However, once the greeting was made, Gellert felt the centaur's gaze slip towards him, and he detected in this first contact the beginnings of a much colder relationship. Obviously, this Firenze had no trust in Gellert and Gellert himself was destabilized by the idea that he could do nothing about it.

The class started slowly after the last student sat down. Even before talking about divination, the young people could not help satisfying their curiosity with a long series of questions, some of which bordered on the offensive. But Firenze managed the class with great patience and honesty, so Gellert was hardly surprised to learn that the creature had been excluded from his herd and territory.

**"Let's us begin** "said Firenze to end the interrogation of the students.

With a wave of her hand, Firenze ordered the false day to go down, and soon the clearing was tinged with the orange colours of dusk, revealing a few stars on the ceiling.

“**Lie back upon the floor,**" said Firenze. “**and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races.**”

Gellert imitated the other students. The feeling of the cold grass against his neck and of the vibrating magic of the room against his skin was most enjoyable. This, mixed with the smell of earth, leaves and wind, inhabited the room and Gellert was surprised to gently close his eyes. He didn't give a damn about stars and skies, destinies and higher powers. But the idea of lying down in the grass and letting time pass was so pleasing to him.

"**I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy and that you have mapped the stars’ progress through the heavens.**”

Soon the centaur's voice became distant, floating vaguely in a corner of Gellert’s mind. The latter, slowly, appears lazy and languid.

“**Centaurs have unravelled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us.**”

His breathing slows down between each exhalation while a slight pleasant shiver moves up his spine, shaking his muscles only to leave them heavier and more relaxed. Taking a breath of air weighed down with freshness and freedom, Gellert let himself go to the state he knew so well. When he was in Durmstrang he used to provoke it voluntarily in the evening, alone in bed, but since he shared his nights and days with Albus, and was so willingly engaged in intellectual and spiritual excitement, he did not spare much time for this sort of thing. It was his second way of having visions. The first, quite against his decisions, was for his clairvoyant brain to raise his body temperature to the point of causing a feverish and hallucinatory state capable of accommodating long and complex visions, saturated with details and certainties. And the second was simply to lie down, close his eyes, and calm his breathing sufficiently to let the veils of time uncover themselves very slightly and rock his mind with a few shooting visions. This was less precise, but also gentler and more natural, in contrast to the burning dreams that were being made in violence and opposition.

Now, Gellert, lying on the grass, under the false starry sky, accompanied by words that did not interest him, in a protected school where everything could be postponed until the next day, saw no harm in indulging in this all too rare tranquillity. At worst, he'd just have to copy his homework on Lavender. He was Gryffindor's beloved new star, after all.

"**Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us!**"

Parvati's sharp exclamation almost brought him out of his torpor. Her strong, youthful voice did not have the calming properties of Firenze's. But Gellert's mind was sufficiently disciplined and accustomed to this exercise not to allow itself to be destabilized and return to its tightrope walk between consciousness and over-consciousness.

"**Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that.**"

The smell of grass. The rustle of a cape next to him. A dark and rich house, standing in the night. The Rosier Manor.

"**And when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things.**”

Lavender's murmur of approval. A light breeze between the trees. Dawlish better not be silly, his Optimals won't help him.

"**That is human nonsense.**"

Parvati's disapproving stupor. Ron's amused throat clearing. Vinda Rosier at the bottom of the marble stairs. Welcome.

The Rosier Manor, flickering light in the night. A piece of parchment. With an address. A sense of urgency. Visceral. That piece of parchment had to be seen. That address had to be known. Voldemort, in the middle of a living room. Bathed in darkness. Vinda behind his back. Vinda, two-faced monster.

A chessboard with recalcitrant pawns. The King and Queen turn their backs on each other. The Queen leaves the chessboard.

A green light. A blinding green light. And a shadow. In the heart of the green torrent. A silent shadow. A shadow of light.

"**Mr. Grindelwald!**”

Years of training prevented him from jumping, but Gellert opened his eyes wide. He saw the head with the long platinum hair of the centaur well above him, almost at the same level as the stars.

"**I see that your contemplation has been particularly profound. Did you see anything?**”

“**Time will tell...**”

Gellert could not prevent a certain bitterness from veiling his voice. He had just seen something important. Essential even. But the fact that the damn centaur brought him out of his trance left him with deep dissatisfaction in the back of his throat. And he felt that the vision had slipped away from him to never came back.

“**In any case**," continued Firenze, "**contemplation and reading of the stars is complicated enough by your human condition that you do not need to add sleep deprivation to the list of your obstacles. As much as possible, try to come rested to this lesson, if you hope to see through the heavenly movements.**”

Gellert almost laughs bitterly at the turn of phrase, but Albus' wise and soothing voice resounds in his mind to encourage him not to respond. The silence, however, allowed him to hear Parvati distinctly raise her hand. She didn't wait to be interrogated to follow the sudden idea that had struck her.

"**But sir, you said humans couldn't see. But Gellert's a seer. A real one.**”

“**Is he one?**”

Gellert immediately felt a touch of irritation. At least that's what he would have said if he had been asked. But in reality, it has nothing to do with a touch and everything to do with a wild stab. Among the list of all the things able to truly anger Gellert, the first, unequivocally, was questioning his abilities as a seer.

“**Yes,**" said a particularly confident Lavender. “**My grandmother was a young Auror during World War II, and she told me that Gellert predicted the atomic bomb more than a decade before it was invented.**”

Well over a decade, actually. For as long as he can remember, Gellert had dreamt of this huge, grotesque mushroom at every opportunity. Besides, not being haunted by the feeling of immense warmth and the vision of his melted skin was strange to him. Pleasant, certainly. But it made him feel like he had lost a companion who was supposed to be a constant in his life.

"**Like Professor Trelawney, perhaps Gellert Grindelwald here has _seen_. But, generally speaking, humans waste their time in good fortune riddles that have nothing to do with true divination as practiced by centaurs.**”

“**Yes, well, I, with my good fortune, tried to prevent the explosion of an atomic bomb. But you, apart from herding together and laughing at your pride, what use has true divination ever been to you?**”

Gellert had been more defensive than he would have liked, but the professor did not pick up the ton.

“**Centaurs do not interfere in the affairs of men.**”

“**Or in anything else, for that matter.**”

“**Our wisdom keeps us away from such pugilism.**”

“**I see. Well, to choose, I think I'd rather keep my good fortune and try to make the world a better place, than have your true divination and use it to flatter my private parts.**”

A few choked murmurs echoing around him. Firenze was not Umbridge, and the other students didn't like to see him being pushed around as much. But Gellert didn't care. He had nothing against condescension. He himself was the perfect example that one could live even when stifled in one's own ego. But he couldn't stand those who confused principle with ease. Those who took pride in abandoning others and despising them under the pretext of an arbitrary elitism of wisdom. And Gellert wouldn't take any lessons from them. He had tried to make the world a better place. Honestly. Ideally, maybe even. He had failed. He had lost himself. But he tried. And that made him much better than any Firenze in the world.

"**Typical human temperament**," the centaur stated softly.

“**Oh, believe me, you clearly haven't seen even the shadow of my temper.**”

“**I understand that stating one's own limitations is frustrating, but...**”

“**Are we talking about me here? Of my limitations?**”

“**The limits of humanity.**”

It was obvious from the calm and soothing sound of his voice that Firenze was trying to de-escalate the situation, but his pride probably prevented him from giving up the last word, all the more so in a conversation where he was so certain of his positions.

“**What limits, pray tell?**" asked Gellert in a tone of curiosity that fooled no one.

The class became agitated, uncomfortable, feeling that a confrontation was looming between the lunar and obscure Firenze, and Gellert, the self-proclaimed defender of humanity. And whatever the outcome of all this, it was not going to be a good fight.

"**Humans are doomed to make mistakes. Their haste, their blindness, their unconsciousness. This gives them great qualities. But they're bound to be wrong. The Greater Good is no exception. I'm fully prepared to believe the probity of the original conviction. And we need only to look at history to see how noble motivations can be disguised and corrupted by human weaknesses, to the point of becoming unrecognizable and mortiferous.** »

Gellert had to use all the forces of his will not to clench his fists, nor let himself go to any outward manifestation of anger. He knew that he was much more powerful and much more impressive when he remained calm. And he would need every advantage he could get against such an unconventional enemy.

"**So, you'd seen World War II?**”

“**Yes.**”

“**And Hiroshima. And Nagasaki.**”

“**Such disruptions have been written in the stars for centuries.**”

“**And you've seen the concentration camps.**”

“**Their shadows.**”

“**And the 50 million dead.**”

“**We predicted their disappearance.**”

“**And you didn't do anything.**”

“**It's not our place to rewrite the stars.**”

“**Then let me tell you a secret, Professor...**"

Slowly, Gellert came one step closer, then two. And ends up leaning gently towards the centaur and whispering to him in confidence:

"**You are guilty of absolutely every one of those 50 million deaths.**"

The other students, who in the silence of the class had heard perfectly, stood still under the weight of the accusation. But Firenze was content to stand upright with the sorry look of an empathetic soul facing a lost spirit.

"**I understand that your sensitivity...**”

“**It's not about sensitivity. It’s a matter of fact. If an event happens, when you had the knowledge to prevent it, the ability to prevent it, and the opportunity to prevent it, then you are guilty of the event. Not the only culprit. But your knowledge made you an actor, and your inaction a culprit. Every person you had the ability to save and you ignored, here you are with their blood on your hands.**”

“**I don't think you're in the best position to judge the state of other people's consciences.**”

“**On the contrary. My tainted consciousness allows me to recognize my own kind. And I say that your inaction allowed me to set in motion what led to the Second World War. I affirm you my accomplices.**”

Gellert couldn't help but breathe a little more freely. Even though the centaurs refused to bend to the rules of morality and decency, he had just come up with an argument that could not be countered. He was the undisputed leader of the Second World War. His word could not be doubted as to the names of the helpers he had by his side. And, surely, the inaction of all those who had had the opportunity to stop him had allowed him to get this far. Not even a reasonable centaur could object to that. Gellert was certain of it. And that is why he found himself so helpless in the face of Firenze's simple answer.

"**I think we misunderstood each other. It happens.**”

“**Divert attention from a lack of argument by blaming...**”

“**When I said that you were not the person designated to judge consciences,**" Firenze gently cut off, "**you understood that I implied that your excessive guilt makes you unworthy of judgment. What I was implying is that the virginity of your conscience makes you incapable of understanding the real principle of guilt.**”

For a moment Gellert was stunned, which was so foreign to him that for a few moments he felt deeply cramped in his own body. What was that idiot talking about, there?

"You're taking on someone else's experiences. You weren't there. And you are a stranger to the path that may have led men to the gates of war. This story that you are trying to make your own is not, and this guilt, which you are trying to bring out in others, does not in any way taint your actions in the first place. Live, experiment. Try to make the world a better place, according to your will. Fail or succeed according to your abilities. And then we will judge together the position of each one in the great system that is the universe.”

Silence greeted this sober and incongruous tirade. Gellert couldn't answer. The other students nodded their heads with a slight smile. His calm, his discernment, and his astonishing kindness with tones of simplicity had convinced them. And Gellert realized, slowly, painfully, that he had lost. And the fact that the subject of the debate was no longer close to his heart, as well as the absence of rancour in the face of defeat, only served to further underline the overwhelming victory of the centaur.

Still... Gellert was supposed to be unbeatable. Immortal. He was supposed to be right, and the others wrong. He knew that the world was only shades of grey, but he was convinced that he, unlike anything else, was only light and conviction. He just couldn't be dazzled. He couldn't have had to bow. And yet, out of empathy, a skill that he managed to excite so well in others, the centaur had managed to impose his idea with a simplicity that made it irrefutable. Albus had often tried in vain to explain to Gellert the difference between wisdom and justice. He was only now beginning to understand how much embracing the second had kept him so far away from the first.

* * *

* * *

"**Crivey, get out of my classroom.**"

The tiny Gryffindor, who was then busy scrubbing an old cauldron covered with long, unidentifiable, burnt marks, jumped with surprise, but, happy to hear these words, rushed to the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Snape, sitting behind his desk, didn't pay the slightest attention to him. He was looking at the Fifth Years' essays about the daughter of peace and its uses in mediwizardry.

The level was abysmal. He didn’t give much of a chance for this year's OWL students, unable as they were to recognize an elixir of life if one was being put in their hands. In fact, this was the case every year. As he progressed in his teaching career, the intellectual potential of the students seemed to deteriorate more and more. And yet, to the great incomprehension of the Potions Master, his cohorts of students always managed to pass their OWL and NEWT. The requirement level was so low that it was distressing. Severus was almost certain that even at the lowest of his abilities, he had never been as incompetent as these dunderheads that presented themselves to him all week long. And yet...

Snape squinted his eyes and placed the last scroll he had to read, which he had just finished correcting, on top of the pile. Albus Dumbledore's essay. For a while he remained pensive about the fine, leaning writing he had now come to know. Dumbledore's works always left him in a strange state. He was convinced that he had never seen anything so brilliant. In his class he had had a small selection of school geniuses, gifted potionists, intellectual virtuosos. He had had workaholics, and innately skilled, he had been exposed to all kinds of wonders. But nothing like Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't just smart. Not only cultivated and skilled with his hands and magic. It had nothing to do with something that could be defined by "capabilities". Until now, having known him as a headmaster and then as a colleague, and having read his papers on a number of subjects, he had guessed that Dumbledore was endowed with those minds that you only see once in a century. But now, witnessing the beginnings of this had taught him that he had been wrong. Albus was actually a mind like there never was before, and like there never will be in the future. The simplicity and obviousness with which he put information in relation to each other, as if he was able to perceive structure where others saw only chaos and chance. The way in which artistic sensitivity and scientific rigour mingled in his mind with such ease to offer new, complex, fragile and yet unbearably clear solutions. His astonishing and unfailing ability to seem to see everything at once, without ever allowing himself to be distracted or deceived.

When he read his homework, Snape might learn a thing or two about the art of potions, but what baffled him so deeply had nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the unbearable evidence of a superior genius. A genius that even he – and he knew he was gifted and enlightened - could only hope to touch. He wasn't particularly jealous. He knew, of course, that Dumbledore was a far more remarkable man than he was, and he possessed enough discernment to know that the genius of such a character in no way diminished his own. But that couldn't stop him from being pensive.

He had observed young Albus a lot in class, and he was forced to agree with his colleagues. Albus didn't exasperate him like other Gryffindors could. He didn't have the pretensions or the silly eagerness of his comrades. He was relatively quiet and contemplative, often concentrating on his potion or other things that Snape couldn't understand. He was neither shy nor uncertain, on the contrary. He was fully aware of his abilities. But he didn't seem interested in proving them. In reality, he was a boy who seemed surprisingly normal for such a different mind.

When he was a student himself, Snape had often wondered about this wise directorial figure. The other children were quick to classify Dumbledore as an incomprehensible old wreck or, for the more respectful, a singular figures who escape human questions. But Snape had never been like the other kids. Perhaps more curious, certainly more sensitive, he had been intrigued by the character. He was not among those who worshipped him, and his clear favoritism towards the Gryffindors tended to exasperate him even then. But he had read his articles and books, especially his youth work, and had recognized through the lines a genius similar to his own. Of course, even then he knew that they were in two different worlds, but that didn't stop them from being similar. Both were destined to be surrounded by fools, and to remain misunderstood. Both evolved alone on paths that were despised because they were tortuous and abstract. Both understood the world differently from the others and this put them on the fringe of the human race. At the time, he was not close to Dumbledore - was he even close to Dumbledore today? - but he felt this proximity, and he had often wondered if the beloved and respected Dumbledore had had a schooling similar to his own. If he, too, had been lonely and cold. If he, too, had watched the world go by without really understanding it. If he, too, had seen others blinded and lost in vain battles and deceptive dreams. Then Severus had discovered the genius of the Dark Lord, he had felt like he belonged to something special, and he had ended up not caring more about Dumbledore than if he had been an incomprehensible old wreck.

Then... something happened... and he was once again rushed to Dumbledore's side. But it was a completely different face that the old headmaster had presented him to. A dark and firm face that seemed to skilfully juggle with very personal and singular notion of humanity and goodness. Severus had seen flaws under the glaze, weaknesses as great as strengths. At times, he even had the impression of a semblance of cruelty. And Albus Dumbledore, who appeared to the world as a blinding flash of light, appeared in all shades of grey under Snape's disillusioned gaze. And that's when Snape realized that he and the headmaster had everything in common. Only the old man had been endowed early on with a great capacity for empathy and kindness, which enabled him to overcome his mediocrity and move towards greatness, when it was only sorrow and remorse that drove Snape to adopt a similar behaviour.

All in all, from the very beginning of this story, Snape had been watching young Albus. He wasn't sure what he was looking for behind the boy's wise and docile features. Was he trying to see the crucified reflection of a painful genius, as he had seen in others and in himself? Or was he trying, on the contrary, to see something different in him, something unique that would explain this great dissension between him and the rest of humanity? For however hard he searched, Snape did not see in this young man the human weaknesses he found in his elder version. He did not see the sad kindness, the benevolent manipulations, the shameless lies, the insolent lightness. All those contradictory things that made Dumbledore both so superbly good and selfless and so profoundly immoral.

No, young Albus seemed to have all the abilities, without any of the qualities or faults of his alter-ego. Originally, Snape had thought this had to do with the fact that the young soul obviously had fewer scars. Going through two wars had probably taught the old man these behaviours by force. And Snape had known Aberforth enough to guess that there was some sordid story behind the brothers' strange coldness. But, as the months passed, Snape had finally seen another path of thoughts. A path that the Dark Lord had whispered in his ear in August. The doubt that he kept covered deep inside him about the origins of this famous photo from which it all began. Snape knew there was something between Albus and Grindelwald, the kind of story that builds or destroys a man. He had seen the way young Dumbledore was looking at his former enemy. He noticed that look. And the habit he had developed of seeing the similarities between him and the old man had immediately taught him that it was the look he himself had had for Lily.

Obviously, Snape was too subtle and too diplomatic to broach the subject. All this was not his concern, and although he was disappointed by the headmaster, he had long since passed the point where his personal feelings were of any value in his fight. He had a job to do, and he was not interested in the weaknesses of his camp leader as long as they did not interfere in their affairs. He didn't approve of such an idea, but he certainly wasn't going to enjoy telling everyone about it. Furthermore, he did not pretend to know exactly what it was all about. However, the few embryos of realization he had allowed him to be properly worried. Grindelwald was dangerous. And one’d have to be as foolish as Dumbledore to believe in a second chance for him. Snape, however, based on what he had seen and guessed so far, had more or less figured out that if the two warlocks had been close at one time, an event must have propelled them in two opposite directions.

But the two boys sitting in the last row in his class didn't look like they were being propelled in opposite directions at all. On the contrary, Snape had never seen such complicity. Whatever event had founded the two enemy legends of Dumbledore and Grindelwald, it had obviously not yet taken place. And the potion master was sincerely worried that it would never happen. For when Dumbledore's ridiculous naivety led him to believe that Grindelwald could change for the better, Snape could only point out that Albus could also change for the worse. Now, if, according to the knowledge of the Dark Lord, Albus had already been ready to perform an act of great dark magic to lock himself in this picture, what concrete obstacle was preventing him from following Grindelwald into a Third World War?

For the last time, Snape's eyes fell upon Albus' essay. So far, nothing in these lines suggested any capacity for violence. On the contrary, his curiosity and sensitivity seemed to paint a picture of him as a fair and upright boy with strong moral values. But, if Snape had learned one thing in his life, it was that love could drive you mad and blind, whether of happiness or pain, and that the world would be absolutely incapable of dealing with an Albus Dumbledore driven mad and blind by either.

The distant sound of a bell, higher up in the floors, caught his attention and he came out of his reflections. It was about time. He'd thought enough about the devil, it was time to face him. With a wave of his wand, he put the essays away in his desk and stood up slowly, his muscles aching from his overly long corrections. With a quick, slippery step, he stepped out of his classroom and went upstairs. It was late and the corridors were deserted. Sometimes one or two Slytheriners crossed his path, but they became rarer when he left the dungeons, and when he arrived in front of the Headmaster’s office, he had not seen anyone for a good couple of minutes. Facing the gargoyle blocking the passage, leaning against the opposite wall, Grindelwald was waiting for him.

Severus would have imagined that he would have to face a satisfied and smug smile, but the young man seemed immersed in his thoughts and bothered by them. The professor was not at all upset by this. As much as he managed to counterbalance his disappointment with Dumbledore with respect and esteem, Grindelwald was link to neither in his eyes. At a young age he had found some ideological leanings for the man's ideas, but the child had nothing to do with that. Grindelwald was everything that Snape hated about the Gryffindors. Arrogant, self-confident of his own greatness, and steeped in painful moralism. Who would have thought that a man with such a revolutionary mind could have been a young man with such rigid and uncompromising thoughts? Worse still, Gellert had won the match for the Gryffindor’s team, which made him absolutely despicable in Snape's eyes. No, if the young man was troubled, Severus could only hope that his thoughts would never again give him the slightest respite. However, he couldn't afford to stand there gloating, and he walked past the gargoyle mumbling the password. They climbed the steps together and the potion master gave two sharp blows to the knocker. The answer was not long in coming.

"**Come in.**”

Snape pushed the door open and let Grindelwald pass in front of him before he went in. They were expected and two comfortable armchairs were already standing in front of the headmaster’s desk. Dumbledore, for his part, was sitting on his high-backed seat, dressed in a heavy plum-coloured robe with gold patterns. His half-moon glasses, on the tip of his nose, gave him a bewildered look that sharply contrasted with his clear, calm eyes. The two guests took their seats in silence. Grindelwald still did not seem to be out of his thoughts, and the worried crease in his forehead obviously had nothing to do with the context around him.

"**Well,**" began Dumbledore when everyone was settled. “**May I offer you some tea?**"

Snape whistled an obvious "no" and Grindelwald did not answer. Dumbledore must have seen this as an enthusiastic assent, for with a wave of his wand he filled three steaming cups from which a rich aroma escaped.

"**We are all served. You can now tell me to what I own the pleasure of this urgently imposed visit.**”

Dumbledore looked carefree and slightly playful, but Severus knew this conversation would go down a path that no one would enjoy.

"**I think Gellert Grindelwald is a danger to this school."**

Dumbledore did not let go of his smile, but Severus now knew him well enough to feel that all the old man's carefree joy was gone. Snape had just touched on two sensitive subjects. Grindelwald and Hogwarts. He was now advancing on a mined road. Gellert, on the other hand, although primarily concerned, seemed to have no interest in the whole conversation. If his worried crease had disappeared, his gaze had been lost towards the window and he now contemplated the dark and heavy sky as if nothing separated him from the silence and solitude of the night.

"**May I ask what makes you think that, Severus?**”

“**Mr Grindelwald, since the Quidditch match, has a strong psychological ascendancy over his Gryffindor comrades.**”

“**You mean... he's popular.**”

**“It's not just popularity. He used that ascendancy today during my class. In just a few words, he was able to subject them to his will and make them do what he wanted them to do, against the behaviour that wisdom, discipline and habit dictated.**”

“**Since the beginning of the year, we have all been able to witness Mr Grindelwald's great ability to challenge the teaching offered to him, and I understand very well the exasperation that can be felt at such an ability.**”

Snape forced himself to breathe in and out quietly. The discussion was ridiculous. Both men knew very well what it was all about, yet Dumbledore seemed content with dodging and half-answering. But experience had taught Snape that only raw honesty could stand up to the old man's gentle manipulation. So he forced himself to articulate as distinctly as possible.

"**I am convinced that Gellert Grindelwald has developed his influence at Hogwarts to the point where he is now able to enslave other students to his cause. And to send them to war for him if he feels like it.**”

For that, in truth, was Snape's real concern. The other students imagined that he had asked for a meeting with Dumbledore to complain about some act of insolence. But what he had witnessed today, the ease with which Grindelwald had subdued the spirits around him to serve as his support, was the real reason for his concern. When all the other teachers had become so accustomed to Grindelwald's presence that they hardly saw it anymore, he had been able to observe critically his influence growing insidiously in the corridors of the castle. And now even Dumbledore could no longer ignore it. They had provided fertile ground for a pathological manipulator, and if Snape didn't have the ability to prevent it, he at least had the ability to force the headmaster to confront his actions.

And, in the suddenly weary and tired look of the old man, he saw that the time for games was over. After a few seconds of silence, Dumbledore turned to the young man.

"**Mr. Grindelwald? Anything to offer in this conversation?**”

At first, Snape thought the young man would reward them with his insolent silence, but slowly Gellert turned away from the window and his strange look, this time inhabited by a glow that the potion master had never seen before, slowly crept into the old man's eyes.

"**I want to meet me.**”

A moment of hesitation set in during which Snape did not immediately understand what the meaning of the sentence was. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to grasp it at once, and it was his disillusioned and weary look that finally informed the potion master of the nature of the request.

"**The idea is laughable**," he sniffed disdainfully.

“**Why?**" the old man asked Gellert at the same time.

Severus prepared to smile at the headmaster's false attempt at conversation, but one glance at the tired face taught him that it all had a frightening accent of truth. Dumbledore certainly wsn’t contemplating the foolish idea of bringing the two Grindelwalds together?

"**I need to know what's lost me. I need to know if it's already in me, or if I'm still innocent of it.**”

“**Maybe that's an answer I can give you, Gellert.**”

“**And we both know I won't believe it, Albus.**”

Snape suddenly felt like he was listening to a private conversation that was not his to hear. The two people seemed to say so much to each other without needing the slightest word that Severus began to hope to be somewhere else. But he returned immediately to earth when Dumbledore spoke again.

"**You will get to see him.**”

“**You can't be serious...**" Snape began.

“**Professor Snape will accompany you to Nurmengard.**”

This time the potion master did not answer. His jaw fell off on its own, leaving him unable to utter a single coherent thought. Probably, he heard wrong. Dumbledore may have been profoundly senile, but not that much.

"**Professor Dumbledore, you can't be serious.**”

“**I am.**”

“**It wasn't a question. I'm telling you. You can't be serious.**”

“**Gellert, you can go back to your dorm. I'd like to have a conversation with Professor Snape. We'll get back to you.**”

Grindelwald, who must surely have had the tenacious impression that the exceptional opportunity that had just been offered to him was as fragile as it was welcomed, did not try his luck, and ran out of the office before anyone could change his mind. Once the door was closed on the two men, the office went silent for a while. Dumbledore was obviously waiting for Snape to intervene, but the latter still couldn't make any sense of what had just been said. Finally, after long minutes, and after the teas had cooled down, he spoke. Hardly.

"**I feel like it's a recurring phenomenon.**”

“**What's that?**”

“**To come into your office with one problem and to leave with two.**”

Albus burst out with a light and sincere laugh, which annoyed Snape as much as it impressed him. How could that old man be so sure of himself, so serene under all circumstances? How could one get to such a level of senility or, more likely, power, that even this situation became sufficiently obvious and acquired to be conducive to laughter?

"**You'd be surprised,**" Albus finally said.

He had stopped laughing, but his eye was still bright and playful. He brought his cup to his lips and, with a breath, warmed it to the ideal temperature. Finally, after a sip, he resumed.

"**You'd be surprised how two problems can be resolved between them if they are confronted together in the right way.**”

“**I don't see how that applies here.**”

“**I fully agree that Gellert's influence on the students in this castle can be potentially problematic.**”

“**Potentially?**”

“**Yes, it depends on what he does with that influence. We can't stop him from having it, but we can gently push him in a direction more in line with our convictions.**”

“**You're hoping getting him to meet Grindelwald will push him in the right direction?**”

“**I trust Gellert Grindelwald to do what's right for himself.**”

“**But is the notion of what is good for him the same for Grindelwald as it is for you?"**

Dumbledore gently sipped his tea with a pensive air, it was obviously not the first time he had been concerned about this issue. But still he wasn't as worried as Snape would have hoped.

"**It depends on what lesson half a century of prison and introspection has taught him. All in all, only time will tell.**”

Severus would have liked to blame this senseless risk on the old man's ridiculous naivety, but he was too used to his tactics to be fooled. This was not the best solution. This was the only one. Nothing could be done for young Grindelwald. He posed a problem and there was no solution. They couldn't kill him, couldn't abandon him to himself, couldn't imprison him for acts not yet committed. Their only solution was to lead him in the right direction. Now that Gellert had the idea of meeting his alter-ego, nothing could stop him. It was therefore necessary to accompany his approach and not thwart it, in the hope that this would strengthen the hold they had on the young man.

Dumbledore wasn't kind. He was realistic.

Severus got up, quickly saluted his superior, and headed for the exit door. As he pushed it to leave, he stopped abruptly and turned back towards Dumbledore.

"**Why me? Why do you want me to go with him there?**”

“**I trust you.**”

“**You trust everyone.**”

“**It's important that you're there.**”

“**But why?**”

“**Because if there's one person who is able to understand these two young men, it's you, Severus.**”


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time had passed. Things happened. All good, the lot of them. Anyway, here's the next chapter!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it cause I loved writing it, and sharing my take on Gellert's past.
> 
> Thanks to KikiandCompany for their existence.

CHAPTER 14 :

"**Have you ever lied to someone you love?**”

“**I don't know... I don't think so.**”

“**You think you wouldn't be able to do it?**”

“**I... I'm not sure what would make me do it. The people I love, I trust them. But... I guess if it was to protect them, then I could do it, though.**”

This discussion Gellert had had with Harry, which might have seemed relatively innocuous, had helped him make his decision. He wouldn't say anything to Albus. He didn't really know why, but he felt it wouldn't be good for him. What he had to find out with himself concerned him and no one else. Albus would have told him a plan to get the prisoner to talk about the Deathly Hallows, and Gellert would then have had to explain to him why he wasn't going to ask such questions. Explaining his moral problems to Albus seemed to him to be beyond his strength. He knew very well what his lover was going to say to him, he was going to try to reassure him with empty, though surely very poetic, words. Gellert didn't need that. He needed truths, whether they went his way or not. So, when he had, over the next week, several opportunities to talk one-on-one with Albus, he didn't do so, containing himself to occupy his mouth in other ways.

Dumbledore the Elder had told him that he could come and go as he pleased from Nurmengard, but obviously the preparation of such an excursion would take longer. However, Gellert did not have the opportunity to become impatient. He wanted to see his alter-ego, but he doubted whether he was ready to have the upper hand in such a conversation. What level and What intentions should he expect? Would his alter-ego be his enemy or his ally? Would he be able to unravel the twisted meanderings of his own mind complicated by decades of additional experience? Gellert considered himself a chess genius, in terms of discussion and verbal jousting, but he sensed that, for the first time in his life, he would surely meet his master. If the urge took his alter-ego to break him, out of pure resentment, would he be able to come out of it with his mind intact?

He obviously couldn't communicate any of his anxieties to Albus. Instead, he would lie awake at night, staring at the heavy fabrics of his curtains, his eyes wide open in the darkness, repeating in his head the conversation to come. When he found a good repartee to an imagined attack from his alter-ego, he would stand up, write it on a piece of parchment and stare at it for a long time until the words and their accents had become ingrained in the front of his mind, ready to resurface the second they were called. Then he would go back to bed, to torture himself even more, until the morning rose and marked a temporary halt to his mental digressions.

Gellert couldn't remember ever being so anxious. Generally speaking, anxiety was not something that came naturally to him. He was almost certain that he could count on the fingers of one hand the times he had felt this strange feeling, and it had never had anything to do with anyone but himself. But, at the same time, he had never had to meet anyone more powerful than himself.

Albus... Albus was brilliant. More than brilliant. More brilliant than him, in fact, and Gellert knew it. But Albus was... easy. His intelligence was surprising and incomparable, but his mind was calm and clear, easily tamed. Gellert, on the other hand, was in the best position to know the strange, dark twists and turns his own mind was capable of. He knew the various poisons that corroded his thoughts and the ones of those around him. And he could only hope to be able to endure his own presence, made external to him by this unlikely situation.

It was a Tuesday when it finally happened. During the Transfiguration class, the teacher discreetly gave him a note from the Headmaster telling him to join Snape in his classroom that evening at 8pm. Gellert didn't know if he was really ready, but that didn't stop him. He had an obstacle in front of him, and his great specialty was facing them, whether or not he could overcome them. Just before leaving, and as Albus was preparing to join the D.A., Gellert gave him the address he had seen in his dream. The address of the Rosier mansion. He didn't know what condition he'd be in when he returned from the confrontation. He didn't know if he would care about anything much after that. So he knew he had to use his possible last moments as himself to do what he knew had to be done. Namely, communicate that address. He wasn't sure whether Albus should have it, but if he didn't, he trusted his lover to find the right person.

Albus remained suspicious for a while, but he never really questioned Gellert when the latter evoked divinatory visions. So he simply stuffed the scroll into his bag and left for his secret meeting. Seeing him like this, Gellert had a strange feeling. A sharp and vague pain somewhere between his stomach and his heart. For a split second, he felt as if he would never see Albus again. He wanted to stop him, to grab him by the arm, to shout to make him turn around. But he didn't. It was foolish. They would see each other again. He was sure they would. And yet, no matter how sure he was, it didn't stop him from feeling an immense and incomprehensible regret suffocating his breath as the door of the common room closed on his lover without a sound.

He struggled, but forced himself to chase it all away. His alter-ego had no way of physically hurting him. He would be fine. Shocked perhaps, but he would survive. He was good at recovering. He waited a few minutes, then went out to the dungeons. All he found were deserted corridors, not a soul to worry about, and he arrived safely at his destination.

"**Come in,**" answered Snape's whistling voice as he knocked.

The classroom was empty, as one might expect, and a single candle still flickered on the desk, casting long, disturbing shadows on the glass jars that covered the shelves. Snape, on the other hand, looked even darker than usual, although his black eyes were glowing with a sharp glow.

"**I see you're right on time. Surprisingly, when it comes to you, you are more willing to follow the rules.**”

Gellert could have gone into a verbal confrontation with Snape, but his mind had other things to busy itself with, so he was easily content to remain absolutely inexpressive. That must have been the right reaction, as Snape continued.

"**The Headmaster provided us with a Portkey that will take us to the entrance of the prison. He also provided a list of instructions. The first one is that I will not accompany you inside the cell. You will be alone with Grindelwald.**”

“**Really?**”

Gellert was finding that hard to believe. He had prepared an elaborate mental argument to get even a few seconds of intimacy with his alter-ego, and even in his most ambitious scenarios, he hadn't imagined for a moment that it would be granted to him willingly.

"**Why such a decision?**”

“**The Headmaster has his reasons. I didn't ask him for them.**”

“**I have the impression that it's something that happens all the time around here.**”

“**If you have any grievances against the Headmaster, you'll tell him yourself. That interests me even less than it concerns me. The second rule is that you must leave your wand here.**”

“**He's afraid I'll attack myself?**”

“**Again, I don't...**”

“**Yes, yes. I got it. You obey and you don't care. Good for you.**”

However, Gellert took his wand out of his pocket and placed it prominently on the professor's desk. He wasn't worried about it, he obviously didn't intend to use it. Snape took it for a moment in his hands, made sure it was real and not an illusion, and then slipped it into one of the inside pockets of his wizard’s robe.

"**That will be all.**”

“**I can do anything else?**”

“**So it would seem.**”

“**No rule against breaking out my alter-ego?**”

“**Surely the Headmaster must know that you have no ability to undo his protection.**”

Gellert couldn't find anything to answer, but that didn't stop him from giving the professor a sharp look, and he seemed to care as if it were his first Chocolate Frog. Snape walked to the office and took out an old, torn leather satchel from his desk. Gellert didn't wait to be asked for anything, and approached to grab a strap from it. The two men waited silently for a few seconds and then, as if answering a call, the Portkey began to shake. Immediately, the student felt the usual sensation of being grabbed on the stomach and a strange hissing sound was heard in his ears as the colours blurred in all directions. A heartbeat later, his knees bumped against a hard, cold, stone floor that had turned gray with time.

Gellert got up quickly and looked around. The place was in a state of complete disrepair. If it had ever been grand, it was far away. The walls, eroded to the marrow, seemed to waver under the weight of the building. In places, nature had regained its rights, in the form of climbing ivy and falling vines. Large cracks lazed on the few bricks that had not dislodged. Finally, an icy, roaring wind crept through the thousands of wounds and echoed endlessly through the corridors, disproportionate for such desolation.

"**Charming.**”

Snape didn't comment and began to advance at a cautious pace.

"**The Headmaster informed me that we would appear in the lobby. The prisoner is in the highest tower of the castle. All we have to do is go up to find him.**”

Gellert nodded silently and followed the professor's lead. This fortress was no inspiration to him. It seemed to him to illustrate what his name had become. Empty, cracked, dark and weathered. He pushed that thought away and began to climb the steps in silence. As he could see the earth moving away through the many cracks, and as nature became more and more scarce, the young man's mind began to wander away from this fortress. He had thought that his impending encounter with himself would haunt his thoughts, but he surprised himself thinking of Albus. And how he should have said goodbye to him before he left for that devastated fortress.

The two silhouettes emerged into the open air. It was actually a corridor where a section of wall had collapsed and crushed tens of meters below. On the ground, a carpet full of mould and ravaged by the different weather conditions could still be seen, but above their heads, nothing stood between them and the stars. Slowly, cautiously, Gellert approached the precipice. He could barely see the forests and mountains below, indistinguishable black masses. In the distance, however, the only distinction in this sea of darkness, the stars were reflected on the eternal snows of some mountains, surrounding them with strange silver halos. They must have been nearly a hundred meters high, and they easily dominated the surrounding area. By day, the view must have been magnificent. By night, it only gave an oppressive sense of loneliness and stillness.

“**This is it,**" Snape continued, cutting out the younger one's thoughts. “**The Headmaster has told me that the doors will open for you.**”

“**And for him?**”

“**I obviously hope not.**”

Knowing that there were no more encouraging answers, Gellert straightened up, walked away from the edge and, after a deep breath, walked towards the double door, astonishedly intact, in the collapsed corridor.

"**I'll be waiting for you there, Grindelwald. Try not to waste my time.**”

Ignoring this injunction, Gellert pushed the door.

It opened with a gloomy squeak, revealing a second, smaller door in simple, warped wood. Gellert waited for the first protection to close, leaving him in absolute darkness, before pushing the new one.

He didn't expect what found him behind the dorr. When he imagined this encounter, he expected exaltation, fear, anger, resentment, admiration, despair. He had prepared himself for an extremely wide range of feelings so as not to be caught off guard. And yet, in none of his mental scenarios had he expected such profound disappointment.

Gellert Grindelwald, his alter-ego, the man who should have represented everything he had projected in his childhood dreams, was little more than a shadow. He was small, smaller than the teenager, and his constitution was so weak that it was a miracle that he could sit up. His bones, disproportionate under his melted skin and muscles, made him look so skeletal that he seemed already dead. A toothless grimace twisted his wrinkled face and an endless chasm devoured his dull, frightening eyes. His bare feet, with yellowed and twisted nails, scratched the ground and his tunic, stiffen with dirt, fell in tatters on his destroyed body.

The cell was a reflection of its occupant. Empty and ravaged. Only one window, too narrow to pass through, let in a tiny trickle of light, while the rest remained in shadow. In one corner, a hard bed and a moth-eaten blanket seemed to be the only semblance of comfort in this kingdom of stone and dust. The whole place emitted a strong smell of damp mould and urine and large, shiny insects would occasionally pass between the uneven bricks before quickly taking refuge in one of the corners or under the blanket.

As Gellert gauged the state of desolation, and tried to calm the visceral disgust that threatened to overwhelm him, a strange question popped into his mind. Was he more disappointed by what had become of him, or by the fact that Albus could have left him in such a place to be devoured by mold and time? He was really not sure of the answer.

He had imagined a thousand discussions, had listed even more questions, but all of them flew away as he forced himself to concentrate on his alter-ego. He would be surprised if he could even say a word. Was that why old Dumbledore had allowed this visit? Because he knew there was nothing to be gained from it.

In any case, he had to try. Careful not to inhale too much of the unbreathable, foul air in the cell, Gellert chased away all parasitic thoughts and stood before his alter-ego, straight, face closed, ready to fight. Against what, he didn't know, but he would win.

"**Good evening.**”

The young man almost expected his alter-ego not to hear him, but the he reacted. A monstrous and disproportionate smile on this gaunt face tore the prisoner's lips, revealing the few teeth that still fit in those red and infected gums.

"**Do you know who I am?**" Gellert continued, holding back a retreating motion.

At first, only silence answered him, but after a few tens of seconds, the old man raised his finger with a hooked nail with infinite slowness and gently patted his forehead. Gellert took a few more seconds, but finally he thought he understood that this was a gesture indicating the third eye.

"**Did you see me coming? You can still have visions?**”

“**I am a vision.**”

Gellert almost jumped as he was not expecting to hear any sound anymore. Yet the voice matched with the person it came from. Worn out and bleached by the years, it sounded like it was twisted between walls, creaking in the high notes and deafening in the low notes. It was almost more frightening than the latent madness in the eyes of the man.

"**Then you know why I'm here.**”

“**You came to see me for the same reason everyone always comes to see me... you want answers. And you think I have them.**”

“**You do.**”

Gellert approached, hesitantly. Then, ignoring the dust and rot on the ground, he crouched down to face his alter-ego.

"**I want to know why?**"

A cloud passed in front of the moon, far, far above their heads, and for a brief moment, all Gellert could see were the gigantic, shining eyes facing him, glowing in the darkness. For a fraction of a second he thought he felt the vice of fear against his chest, but the light came back and he recovered.

"**I want to know why you did this. I want to know how you got lost.**”

The old man stared at him silently. Slowly he turned his head to the side, as if he was trying to see him from another angle, and finally his smile widened again, before the man stopped. Gellert thought for a moment that the man was absent or simply refused to answer when, suddenly, the prisoner put his hand to the ground with lightning speed. The teenager jumped back, his heart beating. He had not at all envisaged that the man would be able to do this. If the urge had gotten to him, his alter-ego could have popped him in the eye, grabbed him by the neck, punched him in the plexus, and he could have done nothing to defend himself. He had approached a beast that he thought was dead and had just realized that it still had fangs and knew how to use them.

Again, after the noise and movement, silence and stillness returned. The old man, still staring the young man in the eyes, just smiled, without explaining his gesture. After a few seconds, however, either when he was thinking again or when his interlocutor had calm down, he spoke again in his hoarse voice:

"**Come closer.**"

Gellert wanted to refuse, but he knew he was in no position to do so. Slowly, with extreme caution, he approached on all fours so that he would have the necessary support to leap back in case of danger. He refused to believe that he had less reflexes than an old man with a moth-eaten body and mind. He could defend himself. When he was near enough, the old man raised his hand, which he had slam on the ground, and held it up, palm up to the sky. Gellert could see a huge brown cockroach on it. The cockroach was motionless, still alive, though too terrified to move.

"**Hold out your hand...**"

Gellert hesitantly complied, but before he could react in any way, the old man grabbed his arm with his free hand. Finally, he slowly dropped the live cockroach into the young man's open palm. It was all very unattractive, but Gellert didn't care about insects of any kind, much more interested than he was in the repulsive strangeness that was his future self.

“**They're disgusting, aren't they?" said the old man, stroking the insect's shell with the tip of his yellow fingernail. “They're crawling. They're swarming. They’re parasitizing. And yet, here, they're my only company. What to do then?**”

“**Break out of the cell?**”

The toothless old man smiled again and then, with a sudden gesture, he pierced right through the cockroach with the nail he was using to caress it. The dirty and sharpened nail continued its course and painfully stuck itself into the flesh of Gellert's hand. The wound was superficial, so the young man forced himself not to react, keeping his eyes anchored in those of the other man, who never let go of his gaze or his arm.

"**It is not because something is reassuring, or comfortable, that it is necessary or legitimate.**”

“**What does this have to do with my question?**”

“**Morality is about comfort, nothing more.**”

Gellert was for a moment too stun to give this answer. The old man seemed to want to straighten himself up, but whether it was because his bones were too painful or his muscles were unable to support his weight, he seemed to fail and give up, content to drag his emaciated old body miserably to his shabby bed. He seemed to be finished with the discussion. But Gellert was far from agreeing. He jumped up and stood in front of his alter-ego.

"**And that's it? That's your reason? To say that life is just superfluous? That morality is an option?**”

The old man did not answer, obviously disinterested, but Gellert insisted angrily.

"**I don't understand! It doesn't make any sense! At what point? When did you become like... like that? You're not me, you've never been me! I'm only fighting for one thing, dignity. But at what point did you begin to believe that dignity has any value without life? How can that make any sense in your mind?! I vowed to free the wizardkind, what good is that if they're dead?**”

Again the old man responded only with silence, even offering himself the leisure to close his eyes. Even more so than with conversation, he seemed to have ended his day. But Gellert would not tolerate it. He swooped down on him and grabbed the prisoner by the front of his sticky, wet clothes.

"**No! You're not ignoring me! What's your little game? Give me a stupid demonstration that has nothing to do with anything, and go to bed! You owe me answers! I demand them! You screwed up, you destroyed everything, even my name! I hate you! I fucking hate you and I want my fucking answers! At least stand up for yourself! Lament! Give me something to fight, instead of crushing cockroaches!**”

The prisoner, who had opened his eyes when his outfit was grabbed, must have found something deeply burlesque in the fury of his younger self, for he burst out with a laugh that might have seemed insane had he not been so hoarse and exhausted, picturesquely dislocated as it sounded. However, this only managed to enrage Gellert further. With an abrupt gesture he lifted the bag of bones and skin from the bed, and since it weighed nothing, barely the weight of his shadow, he could easily lift it up and forcefully press it against the wall.

"**Shut up! Stop laughing! Tell me! Tell me when! Tell me when you became like that! Tell me when, tell me why, tell me something! You think this is funny? Are you sure? I can still hurt you! I can still make you answer me!**”

“**You know very well that pain doesn't work on us.**”

“**I can still kill you!**”

“**And I'll thank you for that.**”

These words stopped Gellert in his anger. He hadn't expected that answer. In fact, he hadn't expected any of what had just been done and said in that cell. He finally let go of the man, stepping back a few steps as if he had been hit with a particularly powerful slap. The old man miraculously managed to stand upright, thanks to the wall in his back, but his eyes shone with a dark and demented amusement. Unable to understand, but unable to accept or give up, Gellert resumed, incredulous:

"**I could hurt you.**”

“**No, you can't.**”

“**I could hurt myself.**”

“**I won't stop you.**”

“**I am you. I can hurt us.**”

“**You don't believe that yourself.**”

“**I could kill myself.**”

For the first time, the old man's gaunt smile seemed to hesitate, to tremble, before it was tinged with a touch of contempt. Gellert was encouraged and continued:

"**I could take your second chance away from you.**" he said. "**I could blow it in a second. And then you'll be alone with your cockroaches.**”

“**You wouldn't.**”

“**Are you willing to bet on that?**”

“**You've never had this kind of tendencies before. You don't give up.**”

“**You said yourself we're not the same people.**”

“**You would be you be incapable of that.**”

“**Unable to sacrifice my life for what I think is right? Sounds like something I might do on a daily basis.**”

“**What's in it for you? Nothing!**”

“**Nothing. Except the satisfaction of having the last word. And the satisfaction of protecting this world from your alter-ego, if not saving it. And I'm more than willing to die for even one of those two reasons. If you're not willing to tell me where this poison comes from, where this corruption comes from, I'm not sure I'm ready to take the risk of already carrying it inside me.**”

Gellert didn't know if he was sincere, or how much of what he said made sense. He didn't care. He guided his words according to the fear he read growing on the other face. He would dissect his own words later. Or, more likely, he'd try to forget them.

"**Tell me when.**”

The old man, though trembling on his legs, did not answer. Gellert approached him, until he was only a few centimeters away from his dead face.

"**Tell me when.**”

“**You wouldn't...**”

“**Tell me when!**”

“**When you killed her!**”

Gellert, who was about to grab the man by the front of the gey tunic, stopped in his gesture and took a step back.

"**When I killed... when I killed who?**”

“**When you killed her! The only one that matters! The others... the others, cockroaches! Just cockroaches! But she... she ruined everything. By dying, she ruined everything.**”

“**Are you talking about Ariana?**”

“**She ruined everything, she ruined everything, she ruined everything...** "

The old man, in a strange crisis, began to repeat these words over and over again, while letting himself slide miserably along the wall.

"**Albus would never have followed us. Even if Ariana hadn't died, he wouldn't have followed us. At Godric's Hollow, our history was doomed to be "ruined,"**” Gellert reasoned.

“**Our history? But it's not our story that was ruined! It was me! It's me that get ruined! I was supposed to be a hero! I was supposed to be great! When she died, she made me the monster of the story..**.”

“**Did you... did you cast the spell?**”

“**I'm the one who instilled the poison! The rest doesn't matter! She died, and she threw her blood on my hands! She forced me to flee forward! After that, what choice did I have? I could only succeed, to turn her death into a sacrifice. If I stopped for a moment, if I slowed down, if I stumbled, then it was back to just murder. You think you're twisted, Gellert, but you can't imagine... you can't imagine... the second such pure blood touches your hands, the second you're forced to do this... the only way out is to make a sacrifice. And it's only a sacrifice if you succeed. If you don't, it's murder. I... I didn't have a choice anymore. She ruined me, I had no choice. If I hadn't committed all the atrocities that followed, then I would have been guilty of the one on the sister. And choosing between two atrocities, I'd rather destroy the world than destroy Ariana. She turned my beautiful fight into a bloody pugilism. She ruined dream into despair.**”

Gellert, again, steps back until his back hits the cold wall. Despite the old man's obvious madness, everything made sense in his head. A sense so obvious, he could almost feel it himself. If, indeed, he had had to kill with his own hands the very essence of what he so ardently desired to defend, then, yes, running away would have been the only solution. The only solution to hope to crudely recover the raw pieces of a fragmented image made false by his story. But...

But he didn't kill Ariana. What's more, he now had no chance to do so. He was horrified at the very idea of such a repulsive act, but this horror was not directed against himself, but rather against a vague and undefined identity. He did not feel a duty to give this death any meaning or excuse. But, in the end, the question remained. Gellert still didn't know if what had made him guilty about Ariana's death had been in him before. He knew he had nothing to run away from, but what if something inside him, something gangly and vitiated, was now waiting to grow in another form, and corrupt him once again from within? And, he didn't know why, but he sensed that his alter-ego wouldn't have the answer to that. So he asked another question, a question far removed from the one that really occupied him, but which at least had for it the merit of having a possibility to be answered:

"**Why didn't you kill yourself? If you knew that she had destroyed any possibility of sincerity and integrity on your part, if she had defiled your dream, why didn't you end it, knowing that you had a second chance waiting for you.**”

“**Because I knew Albus wouldn't do it... and I didn't want to be alone, once I was on the other side...**”

Gellert looked for a moment at this man, this shadow of a man, cowering, disgusting, and afraid.

"**You're pathetic.**”

And in insulting the man, he felt as if he was insulting himself. Until now, he had always seen his alter-ego as an entity external to himself. A vague story, which had made choices and mistakes that he would obviously have avoided. Now he understood how inevitable this man's decadence was, and how easy it would have been for this decadence to be his own.

The old man must have felt the young man's inner trembling, for he laughed. A joyless laugh, a bitter laugh, which was the healthiest and most sensible thing that had come out of him tonight. With that strange touch, between madness and lucidity, Gellert left the cell, his suffocating air and cockroaches, with the promise that he would never return.

* * *

* * *

Severus Snape wondered what the hell he was doing here. Standing, leaning against a collapsed wall, on an icy alpine night in the middle of April. He'd never been to Nurmengard before, and he'd been just fine with that. To tell the truth, even though he tried to ignore all the inconveniences (the wind beneath his cape, the idea of being of any help to Grindelwald, the anxiety of being discovered at any moment, the dark magic he could feel vibrating against his skin like a greasy smoke that polymorphism made dangerous and unpredictable) and to concentrate on the facts, he couldn't see the reason for his presence here. The old Headmaster had not informed him of this on the evening when the decision had been made, and on the few occasions since the two men had seen each other, the topic had been deliberately put aside, leaving Severus in absolute limbo. This was a surprisingly constant in his life from then on.

But the Professor of potion was not so good at lying to himself that he could not accept the fact that what bothered him more than the cold or ignorance of the point of his presence was the mere idea of helping Grindelwald in any way. He didn't like the boy. He didn't like him at all. Gellert was exactly what he loathed about the Gryffindors. His self-righteousness, his arrogance, his impulsiveness, his insolence, his hero complex so developed that it could only badly hide an obvious hypocrisy, all of which made the boy despicable to him. Gellert obviously didn't know the word "subtlety", not even the definition. He had no finesse, no genius. He excelled in class - when he deigned to hand in his homework - and he seemed to have some culture, but Snape refused to believe that a boy so ridiculous in his behaviour and exuberance was endowed with any kind of refined and complex intelligence. He would surely have been a great friend of James Potter's if they had gone to school together. As far as Snape is concerned, he and Potter Sr. were undoubtedly from the same clique. He really didn't see what the other students at the school - including some of his own Slytherins! - could see in him. He couldn't see how thousands of wizards had been blinded by such a personality. Even more, he couldn't see how Dumbledore, even though he was only 15 years old, could find anything interesting for him. But then, if you take the past into consideration, the Headmaster seemed to have a gift for surrounding himself with noisy ignoramuses.

But still, how could Grindelwald deceive anyone? He who was the definition of the popular, handsome, powerful, confident student, he who had never had the slightest difficulty in life, how could he have become the symbol of the oppressed? Snape saw in Gellert's ease the mark of those who had all received in life without giving anything, those so accustomed to shining that they had never known darkness. In some aspects, Snape found certain qualities in Voldemort that Grindelwald did not have. At least Voldemort, although he lied about his origins, did not conceal who he really was, and did not portray himself as a parody of morality. Gellert Grindelwald, privileged in every way, tried to invent a sense of belonging that existed only in his head and in the heads of those foolish enough to listen to him.

A squeak could be heard over the whistling wind and Snape turned just in time to see the double doors leading to the cell open slightly to see Gellert emerge. The professor noticed at once that the young man seemed wobbly, and that his unbearable smile had deserted his lips. The boy, a whitish silhouette in the dark night, took a few uncertain steps and, with astonishing slowness, seemed almost to collapse against one of the pants of the destroyed walls. At last he seemed to vaguely catch up and control his trajectory, so that the fall turned into a somewhat sudden movement, far away from the grace, ease, and natural mastery of Gellert's every move. Snape, incredulous about this vision, remained in his place, waiting for the boy to come to him so that they could leave. However, the boy didn't seem to resolve to get up. Instead, he slipped from his knees to his backside and left his legs hanging in the void. Snape couldn't see his face from where he was, only his straight back, but he could easily guess that his eyes must be getting lost on the black masses below. Severus' preoccupation gradually turned into annoyance. He had a thousand other things to do than to wait in the corridor until the student he hated had finished sifting through his moods.

He forced himself into an unnatural patience for twelve whole minutes, and finally decided to confront the unbearable latecomer. He nimbly straightened himself up and progressed through the ruined corridor until he rose above the prostrate figure on the void.

"**It's more than time to go home now, Grindelwald. It may surprise you, but the world has other things to do than wait for you.**”

“**Go without me.**”

Gellert's voice was white and closed, like the clenched fists that were clutching the fabrics of his trousers.

“**Although it would give me the greatest pleasure,**" Rogue replied with obvious contempt, "**it's unfortunately not an option. Get up and let's go now. You've wasted enough of my time.**”

“**Just leave me alone!**”

Snape squinted. The superb and panache of the student seemed to have faded away, leaving only a sincere and ferocious aggression, far from his usual humanist bravado. Finally, the demagogic mask seemed to crack slightly.

"**Be particularly careful, Mr. Grindelwald. There are some lines that are better left uncrossed.**”

“**Oh! And what do you intend to do about it, eh? Hit me? Let me spoil the news for you, it doesn't work on me!**”

Gellert had just sharply turned around, and Snape was not surprised to see a boiling anger in his eyes as he resumed in the same fiery tone.

"**Didn't it occur to you that maybe I'm tired of lines? Tired of having everything decided for me? Tired of everyone thinking they have the right to define me? History books! Laws! Other people's eyes! Visions! Those who think they know better! Let me tell you straight away, so we'll know where we stand, you don't know any better! That old fool in his cell doesn't know any better, and neither do you! You two should meet, you'd get along well, I'm sure of it! The end justifies the means, right? As assholes, you two are bound to get along! But I'm different! Because I know something you've forgotten, or maybe you've never known! Being a victim is no excuse for being a torturer! Nothing. Excuses. Anything. _You_ are not excused.**”

This time, it was Snape's turn to be baffled by the boy's virulence as much as by the content of the remarks.

"**What are you talking about?**”

“**Please, do you really think I'm such an idiot? Do you think I don't recognize the signs? All right, I get it, battered child and bullied teenager. How sad, really. Well, guess what, it doesn't change the fact that you're a truly despicable human being. Children don't deserve to be humiliated because their teacher was humiliated.**”

At these words, Snape became white with rage or nausea, he didn't know for sure. How dare he? How could he just speak those words?

"**You can't... You have no right... You don't know what you're talking about.**”

“**Don't I? What don't I know?**”

“**You don't know me. And you don't know any of these things**!”

Gellert had a cold and serious laugh, with demented accents, which was not at all like him and which would have been much more associated with this cruel figure from the history books. Without saying a word, the boy began to unbutton the front of his coat and drop it at his feet. The wind was biting, and when the student took off his sweater, the skin on his arms turned pink in a matter of seconds.

"**Pull yourself together, Grindelwald. What do you think you’re doing?**"

But the boy didn't answer, just taking his shirt over his head. And then, any urge Snape might have had to protest vanished from his mind. The boy's skin was deeply scarred. Burns as small as a cigarette, or larger ones, whitish belt or whip marks in various stages of healing, some so faded and distorted that the body must have been quite small when it received them. The whole was not devastated. The body, behind the martyred skin, was solid and soundly built, but Gellert undeniably bore the marks of a life that had been more difficult than his confidence, strength and idealism would suggest.

"**The joys of growing up in a sect,**" Gellert said with a lightness that was all pretence. “**My father is... well, I suppose he was the founder of an isolated extremist Catholic cult in Germany. It turns out that being born with a melanin deficiency and abnormal eyes in such an extreme community is not the brightest of ideas. Most of those marks come from attempted exorcism. The others... the hatred of a father who sees in his son the mark of evil, and the fear of a squib mother who is scare that the powers of her offspring will reveal her own heritage to an uncompromising community. Seven sisters too. All of whom have imbibed parental behaviours to the point of reproducing them identically. None to save the others. And, of course, I was expected not to fight back. It would be a shame to break the secret, wouldn't it? Wizards should stay in the shadows where they belong.**

“**So, yes, I know a thing or two about pain, shame, guilt, humiliation, injustice. Submission to forces created out of thin air... About ignorance. About judgment. About daily harassment, so daily that you want to scream your jaw off and tear your face off. I also know the allure of nihilism. The lure of contempt, of indifference, of revenge. I know more about loneliness than I know about my own name. And I suppose you know some of those things too. But you know why I'm not like you? Why I'll never be like you? What makes me better than you?**

“**When you're faced with suffering, the real I mean, you have two choices. Fight it, or repeat it. One person hurt you, so all people deserve to be hurt, don't they? I can only imagine you must be of some nobler use, for old Dumbledore to keep you by his side. But, you might be the one willing to die to kill Voldemort, that will never make you good, noble, heroic. Not even a decent being. You'll remain as pitiful, as laughable, as low-down. Because you've been to someone else what an asshole has been to you. But I'm different. I'm much better, and much more. Because I've known pain, and I'm gonna end it. I'm going to tear it out at its roots, even if I have to tear my skin and my flesh off the brambles. I'm going to tear it off and free the earth of it. Knowing the suffering and the injustice has taught me what I would never suffer to see in this world, when it just allowed you to see how acceptable it was to be a mediocre and cruel individual. I would never make that mistake. I will be the hero, the revolutionary who will change the world, and pass on his vision to future generations so that no one will ever again know fear, shame and contempt. Never again.**”

This monologue, which had disturbed the night with its intensity and fragility, ended, leaving Gellert exhausted and, Snape noticed, deeply shaking. Slowly, the boy sat down on the edge of the corridor, a hundred yards off the ground, visibly unsure of the ability of his legs to carry him any longer.

Snape remained in his place, stunned, unable to sketch out the slightest movement. He hadn't expected anything of what he had just been told. Gellert Grindelwald's past and motivations had always been a black and unfathomable hole in the history books. He seemed to have been born out of nothing and to have returned to nothingness, without any trace of any identity apart from what he publicly asserted. Snape wondered for a moment whether Gellert himself had bleached his origins for strategic purposes, or whether those who had written history had accommodated the narrative to fit the traditional image of the dark Villain of moral tales.

Either way, Gellert now appeared to him in a new light, and in the midst of that unfathomable night he had never seen him so clearly. He didn't like him more, but he had the strange feeling that if they tried a little, they could understand each other. Perhaps that was Grindelwald's true power, to give others the impression that he was able to understand them.

"**History has taught us that you have done far more harm than you have received, in the end.**”

Snape wasn't sure why he was saying that. He was no longer in the conflict dynamic that started this conversation. He didn't see the point of opposing the boy anymore. It all seemed laughable. Yet he breathed out the sentence, without conviction, without intonation, knowing that he was probably underlining a question that Gellert was already asking himself.

The boy, hearing this intervention, lowered his head and clenched his fists. Then, in a dejected voice that could hardly be heard, he said:

"**I am not him. I will not become him.**”

There was such a devouring doubt in this statement that Severus felt no desire to shake it. Instead, he bent down, picked up the coat that was still lying on the ground, and slowly, expecting to hesitate and give up every step, he advanced to the ledge and sat down over the void, beside the boy. Without looking, he held the coat out. Gellert took it, but didn't put it on, just hugging it with an absent gesture against his chest.

"**If there's only one thing I've learned, it's that life, by its very essence, is tortuous and constantly changing. There's no way to know where you'll end up. I can't tell you if you'll be like him. But he can't tell you that either. Neither can the history books. You'll never be what other people think of you. For better or worse.**”

The night greeted his words, with no way of knowing whether Gellert had intercepted them or not. Silence lasted for a few moments. Hardly. Or perhaps a bit longer.

"**Was it Harry's father?**"

"**Yes.**"

Severus didn't ask how the boy had guessed. A vision, an intuition, the result of a logical deduction that was not so unreachable, he didn't know and he didn't care.

"**Does he really deserve it?**”

“**Yes,**" Severus said. “**He's execrable. Just like his father.**”

“**Are you sure?**”

“**Evidently.**”

Gellert sighed slightly and leaned forward a little, affecting to observe the eternal snows in the distance to poorly mask his abatement.

"**Perhaps hatred is inevitable. From close to close, its corruption is inexorable. Perhaps I am the greatest example in human memory of the impossibility of breaking the cycle.**”

“**You think too much of yourself, Grindelwald. At the moment, you're hardly an example of anything.**”

“**I... can't decide if that was kind or cruel.**”

“**I can't decide whether I'm kind or cruel.**”

“**All you have to do is ask me. I have the answer.**”

Neither soul laughed nor smiled, but both knew they were amused by the turn of the conversation. Seriousness, however, quickly retake its place.

"**Are you not afraid of being like him?**”

“**Like who?**”

“**Your father. A charismatic leader, founder of a community, at the heart of an extreme vision of the world. Sounds familiar.**”

Gellert turned his eyes away from the horizon and looked up at the stars.

"**I don't know,**" he said. “**I guess I learned a few things from him. He knows... knew... my father is dead...**"

The conclusion seemed to mark Gellert for a moment, but he recovered just as quickly.

"**He knew how to talk to people. He knew how to hypnotize them. You should've seen the eyes they all had. But unlike him, I don't want to push people to serve other interests than their own. I don't want to push people into submission. That's the big difference between Voldemort and me that nobody seems to see. Voldemort uses pseudo-ideas, false beliefs, to increase his power and his own persona. My vision is greater than I am. It's bigger than me. Someday it will overtake me and I'll be left behind while others will continue side by side with it. I guess on that aspect I look like the man who gave birth to me. But I'll never become like him. He wanted to strengthen the restraints when I wanted to destroy them. He wanted to make his Vision unattainable when I want to be by everyone's side. If one day I meet a child who is different, I will accept him. I would never try to destroy him to rebuild him in my image. That is my promise. I want to change the world, not this child. In that, I will never look like the man who gave birth to me.**”

“**And if this child is deeply evil?**”

“**Are we talking about evil in essence? I don't believe in it. And if it existed, I would show by example how to remedy it.**”

“**So, isn't that trying to destroy the person and rebuild them in your image...**"

“**No, it's not. It's not because there's nothing to destroy. In each person, there is only one thing to be born so that each person contributes to the greater good. And that is empathy. Only that. That is the only thing that should be learned. Because where there is empathy, laws, traditions, written constraints are only superfluous and atrophizing notions.**”

Severus looked at the boy for a moment. His despondency was gone, and now he was addressing his speech to the stars with all the conviction that passion was capable of. And for the first time, Severus Snape wondered whether he had been right to believe that Grindelwald was a hypocrite. As for these words, the potions professor was not so sure. He had never been blessed with great empathy. Perhaps the constant violence he had faced had prevented him from developing such a trait. Yet similar violence seemed to have exacerbated it in the student sitting next to him. How could they have evolved in such literally opposite ways. Didn't Gellert think that an exception that was in fact applicable only to him was a possible generality? He knew suffering, but he didn't seem to be able to know trauma. Surely Nietzsche's sentence must have been about Grindelwald. It was obvious that what didn't kill him made him stronger. But Snape knew from experience that, in most cases, what doesn't kill gnaws from within until a passive death through weakness and fragility blooms out of it. Violence is not a slap but a poison. So had Gellert been gifted early on with a particular character or ability that enabled him to solidify rather than break every part of his mind where a crack had been forcibly opened up? Empathy, Severus didn't believe in it too much. In his own case, the noblest thing in him had nothing to do with empathy. On the contrary, he had acted only because of the insurmountable intensity of his own pain. If Lily could have died and his heart had remained intact, he would have been the most faithful follower of the Dark Lord. No, he definitively did not believe that empathy could serve any other purpose than to prepare the ground for more weaknesses and pains. Yet...

Yet, hearing Gellert speak, Severus could easily understand why everyone had such a burning desire to believe in him. Had he been less destroyed himself, he might have wanted to do so too.

"**What if Mr Dumbledore was taken away from you?**”

“**I'm sorry?**"

The use of the other Gryffindor's first name seemed to shake Gellert, who tore himself from the stars and turned to the professor.

"**You seem to believe that feelings are a good thing. That they strengthen you. You have feelings for Albus...**”

“**What makes you think that.**”

“**The look on his face. Not yours. His.**”

“**Not mine?**”

“**No, you look at him differently. You admire him. He loves you. But I suppose you know that already. What would you do if you lost him? If he was taken away from you.**”

“**I'd turn the world to ashes.**”

Gellert had dropped those words in the most obvious tone of factual utterance. It was neither angered nor remorseful. A simple statement of fact.

"**And then you will become the torturer you swore not to be. No quality can annihilate violence. Even forgiveness has a breaking point. It always does.**”

“**Perhaps...**"

A gust of wind stirred the hair of the two seated souls, taking with it the distant, wooded and wild scents of inaccessible yet seemingly reachable lands in the black and undifferentiated mass of the night.

"**Perhaps, but at least I would have tried.**”

* * *

* * *

An hour later, Gellert returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. It had been an exhausting day. All he wanted to do was go to Albus and tell him everything. The bad premonition when they had left, the exhausting conversation he had had, the thoughts he had allowed himself to have about the possible loss of his friend, all that only made his willingness to confess absolutely everything about his soul even more pressing. For a moment he wanted to refuse solitude. He had someone with him after all.

"**What happened?**”

The question immediately left his lips when he saw the dark and downcast faces of Ron, Harry, Hermione, Fred, George, Angelina, Katie, Neville and Ginny, alone together on the sofas of the Common Room. Something had happened. Something bad had happened. Harry turned to him, wanted to talk but lowered his head in shame and contained rage. It was Ginny who broke the news to him:

"**The D.A…. We have been caught tonight... Harry just told us... Albus said it was because he was the founder of the group that his name was on the top of the list of members. He said it was his idea...** "

Gellert didn't understand right away. Or he was afraid to understand. Ginny continued:

"**He was expelled from Hogwarts... Albus is gone.**”


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> Sorry once again for the late, late posting. I didn't even remember when was the last time I posted but a crisis of faith regarding JKR, Fantastic Beasts and WB had hit me hard those last months and made it extra hard for me to continue. Don't worry though, I'm nowhere near out of idea, and this fanfic will be finished, I assure you. It's just that the motivation is sometime hard to find between two hateful tweets.
> 
> Anyway, your continuous support mean the world to me and I hope I'm up to the expectation.
> 
> About the new chapter, to make up for the absence, it's an extra long one, the longer of the serie so far, and by a lot. Though, I'm not that satisfied about it, I have to be honest. But writing it has been so hard, I felt trapped in a place where nothing could convince me to write, so this chapter, despite its flaws, is still going online as I hope it will get me out of that place. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy nonetheless or at least be reassured that this fic is nowhere near abandoned.
> 
> CPDB

**CHAPTER 15**

"**What are you doing... Gellert? What are you doing?**”

The man did not answer, continuing to throw loose things in his bag. He didn't want to pack a suitcase, some clothes only should do the trick. He would find the rest once he would have join Albus. In a few steps, he made his way back to his bed to get the pillow. He certainly wasn't going to leave the Deathly Hallow behind. He was about to grab it when a hand grabbed his arm to stop him in mid-motion.

"**Gellert, calm down.**”

The Germanic raised his head to Hermione who had just interrupted him. Her large brown eyes seemed worried and cautiously detailed him, as if she feared his future actions. There was really nothing to be afraid of, according to Gellert. He was just planning to leave. He didn't belong here in the first place. Couldn't she see that?

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who was blind to this fact. Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ginny were also there, standing in the middle of the dormitory, staring at him as if he were suffering from a particularly disturbing form of dementia. He was packing his bag, not skinning a kitten.

"**I'm relatively calm, Hermione. In fact, you all seem more nervous than I am.**”

“**What are you doing, man?**”

“**It's pretty obvious, isn’t it? I'm packing my bag.**”

“**Are you... are you planning to leave?**" Ron asked. “**But you can't just...**”

“**Why is that? The door is open, last I heard. And we can apparate from Hogsmeade. Hogwarts is hardly the most heavily guarded of prisons.**”

His point of view having been defended, Gellert resumed his previously abandoned task. The pillow slipped effortlessly into the bag, but it would surely have to be subjected to a stretching spell. Or maybe... The young man didn't have much more to gather. The cloak, and a couple of clothes. He had his wand in his hand, his broom, he couldn’t care less, and he didn't seem to have anything else in his possession. He has never been very materialistic, and today that served him well. Besides, he could have left without taking anything, as long as there was Albus at the end of the road, it didn't matter to him.

"**But... what are you going to do outside? On your own?**”

“**I won't be alone, since there's Albus. He's probably waiting for me. He suspects that I won't stay here if he's not there.**”

“**But, what about your OWL?**”

Gellert stopped for a moment in his movement, staring at Seamus who had just said that.

"**I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that...**"

How could anyone be interested in something as stupid, as inconsequential as grades? His future was not being played out on the school benches, but alongside Albus. It was not so complicated to understand, was it?

"**But you can't just leave Hogwarts like that.**”

“**What are they going to do to me? Lecturing me? They'd have to find me already, for that...**”

“**But with Voldemort out there,**" Harry exclaimed, "**it's dangerous. What if he manages to get his hands on you?**”

“**Well, that would suit you. Then your biggest problem would be solved.**”

Gellert saw in the corner of his eye Dean leaving the dormitory, probably to get some help. But the young man didn't care, it wouldn't change his determination. There was still this strange anguish deep inside him. Spinning and incessant, in the pit of his stomach. And he knew that the only way to calm it was to join Albus. There. Tonight. And apologize too, perhaps. At least a little.

With a skillful gesture, he quickly closed his bag and slipped it over his shoulder. In his opinion the discussion was over. To tell the truth, he was beginning to feel a slight annoyance in the depths of his chest. He was trying to push away from his thoughts the worrying memories of his evening, the worries that were suffocating him, and the tireless negative presentiment that he could not completely shut up. And the others, all those silly children who looked at him, who made sounds without really speaking, who were worried about... what? Their OWL? The rules? Gellert just wanted them to be quiet. To disappear. It all seemed to him from another universe, another reality. He had always felt outside of his environment, but today he looked at the comrades without seeing them, unable to help but wonder how there could be such a world between them and him.

Grindelwald took a deep breath, forcing himself to ignore this latent anger he didn't really understand, and walked towards the door, but Harry blocked his way, visibly reluctant to let him go, and quite blind to his interlocutor's state of mind.

"**You... you can't leave.**”

“**Give me one good reason.**"

Harry, eyes wide open, bit his lip, unable to find what to say. A painful impotence was now visible in his green eyes, but this did not move Gellert at all. On the contrary, he felt a fleeting form of joy. The world had torn Albus from him, he could well hurt it a little in return. It would only be fair, after all.

"**No, I've got something better. There's another reason I'd rather have. Tell me, Harry, why are you here?**”

“**Because I don't want you to leave and Voldemort would...**”

“**No. Not here with me. Here at Hogwarts. Why are you at Hogwarts and not Albus?**”

“**He turned himself in. I... We were both taken to the headmaster's office and... I told them it was me! I told them I was in charge! But... But Albus turned himself in and... He lied, he said he founded the group and...**”

“**And they believed him,**" Gellert resumed with a falsely conciliatory smile. “**As simply as that. They believed him. It had nothing to do with the fact that his name was at the top of your little illegal organization's list.**”

For a moment, Harry was speechless, as if he had just been slapped in the face, before bowing his head, full of resentment. Gellert could easily guess that this resentment was directed at himself, he knew the boy well enough to believe that he had done everything he could to make it clear that he was the culprit, and to prevent Albus from taking the blame. But Gellert didn't care about that. The wills, the efforts, the attempts, why does it matter? Harry was there, not Albus. That was all he could see.

"**It's not Harry's fault!**"

It was Ginny who had just exclaimed, visibly annoyed. She seemed to see through Gellert's words his need for cruelty, and she was obviously ready to defend her friend.

"**He did everything he could to...**”

“**...everything but listening to Albus. Didn't he tell you it was a bad idea? Didn't he explicitly express his desire not to have you use his name?**”

“**We didn't think that...**”

“**His own name. A name that you took from him as if it didn't belong to him. As if it was yours to use. And all this for... a joke? Well, I hope it was a funny one, at least. That you laughed.**”

No one answered him. Everyone was struck by his words, caught up by a guilt they had only vaguely sensed until now. Gellert slowly passed his tongue over his cold, dry lips, gazing at the dark faces in front of him, trying to judge the impact of his words. He knew that he had hurt them, in the exact place of their sensitivity. And yet he felt no joy in it. Nor any remorse. Simply an unfathomable emptiness in the place of his soul where the gentle, wise Albus always brought calm and quiet.

Slowly, the Germanic approached Harry. Hurt him, just a little, just once. It wouldn't make him become like his alter ego. It was fair, after a stupid joke had snatched from him what a century of non-existence hadn't shaken. Just one last final coup de grâce. Slowly he leaned over to Harry's ear and whispered in a clear, almost caressing voice:

"**If Voldemort finds Albus before I do, he'll kill him. Then you can both share the guilt. It will give you a new common ground. You seem to have lot of them, now.**”

He straightened up, his face remaining a few inches from Harry's face. He saw in those eyes so green the damage of his words. He did not revel in it. But it seemed right to him.

He walked towards the door at the exact moment it opened on Professor McGonagall, accompanied by Dean, so he had to step aside to avoid the door.

"**Grindelwald? Potter? All of you, what are you still doing up at this hour? Miss Weasley and Miss Granger, you're in the wrong dormitory.**”

The teacher frowned when she noticed the total lack of response from her students.

"**Can I know what's going on here?**"

Grindelwald sighed, he wasn't about to go into yet another explanation. He simply readjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and quickly slipped between McGonagall and the doorframe to the spiral staircase. Dean, surprised by the silence of his classmates, quickly took charge of the explanations.

"**It's Gellert, ma'am. He wants to leave Hogwarts.**”

McGonagall seemed so shaken by the idea that it took her a few seconds before she was able to react, and Gellert, within that time, had almost reached the common room.

"**I beg your pardon? To leave Hogwarts? In the middle of the year? Have you gone mad, Mr. Grindelwald? Come back here!**"

Seeing how ineffective her words were, she hurried down the stairs, holding the bottom of her Scottish dressing gown between her fingers to avoid getting her legs tangled.

"**Mr. Grindelwald? Mr. Grindelwald! Stop for a moment!**”

She rushed into the hole in the portrait after the young man, quickly understanding the seriousness of the situation. So, she walked at full speed beside him as they both began the descent of the seven floors that separated them from the first floor.

"**Mr. Grindelwald, I understand perfectly well that...**”

“**What do you understand? I can't wait to find out.**”

The professor pursed her lips for a moment. She sensed that the boy, for reasons that partly escaped her, seemed to be in a particularly vulnerable state. She had, in her long career, met enough complex young souls to see through the haughty confidence of the most fragile, and she felt that Gellert was not wearing his usual smile, but a pale, bitter alternative version. She would have liked to choose her next words with great care, but she knew she probably had very little time.

"**I understand very well that Mr. Dumbledore's departure must have deeply upset you. You are friends, both of you in an extremely special situation that brought you together, and to lose him so suddenly would understandably shake you up. But I beg you not to make any hasty decisions. The Headmaster would not leave him in any kind of dangers, and you risk complicating the situation if you leave Hogwarts in this way.**”

“**I am not worried about his safety. Nor am I concerned for mine or the Headmaster’s peace of mind. I am concerned about the deep, lethal boredom I feel in this unbearable castle of immobility. I just want to leave, because I don't belong here. It's as simple as that.**”

“**You can't leave without consequences, Grindelwald.**”

"**Oh, no. Consequences. How awful. Me, who wanted so much to win the Houses Cup, and to have a diploma that would give me the right to go and suck off incompetent bosses at the Ministry. I'm devastated, Professor. Devastated, really.**"

McGonagall must have sensed that she would be unable to convince the young man's stubborn and confused mind, as she stopped at the top of the stairs between the third and second floors.

"**I'll have to report this to the Headmaster.**”

“**Please, do so.**”

And with these words, Grindelwald ran down the flights of stairs until he could no longer see or hear the old woman who had followed him there unnecessarily. On his way to the great gate, he met no one. No ghost, no caretaker, no teacher. He was almost disappointed. Crossing Umbridge to bid her farewell would not have displeased him. Externalizing his guilt on her would surely have been much more enjoyable than on Harry. But he couldn't have it all, and so he preferred to speed up the pace to reach his lover more quickly. In just a few minutes, he was finally out in the open. The night was dark and difficult to probe. It was the end of the first day of April and the weather was still icy, visibly uninformed that it had just entered the beginning of the first warm months. The wind, though not as strong as the temperature would have led one to believe, was enough to force the tall grass of the hill down to the iron gate to the ground, and the rest of the frost creaked and cracked under Gellert's heavy and fast footsteps. He did not know what protections would await him at the gate, but the young man had no doubt about his ability to get rid of them. If they were the only thing standing between him and Albus, they wouldn't have the audacity to hold much longer.

As he approached his goal, Gellert tightened the sections of his jacket around his chest. He hadn't taken anything warmer, and the thin fabric was very weak against the night temperature. But he had experienced much worse in his small village in northern Germany, so he didn't care. He had never really felt the cold. Unlike Albus. Albus had always been fragile. He had always wanted to see Gellert's childhood land, but the Germanic only had to state the average weather to see the enthusiasm fade. Albus had always been so sensitive. And yet he had always remained the stronger of the two. As if his so fragile emotions and thoughts, this great idiocy that he had of letting the world hurt him, in no way detracted from his strength. In spite of his large eyes, often so gullible and so quick to disappoint, he seemed to retain within him a great power of calm and clear-sightedness, a wisdom that Gellert's tumultuous and exacerbated soul could only envy him. Deep down, Grindelwald knew that if his lover got hurt in any way, it would take far more than the world could provide to truly break him. In contrast to him, who had already proved by the example of one life that it would take very little to break from within a spirit that nothing seemed to be able to scratch. In the end, Gellert could almost have wondered whether he was rushing to his lover's side for the latter's sake, or for his own good. But he didn't wonder at all.

"**It's quite cold for night-time wandering, don't you think?**”

Gellert, who had just arrived in front of the gate, and who had taken out his wand to gauge what he still had to do before he was able to leave, almost jumped out of his skin in spite of himself. He had neither seen nor heard the man arriving behind his back. But as soon as he recognized the familiar accents in the voice cracked by the years, he found his surprise understandable.

"**If you've come here to offer me some big words, Albus, you can spare us both. I intend to leave this castle, and nothing can stop me.**”

“**Yes, that's what Minerva told me, too.**”

“**Then go back inside. You never really could stand the cold.**”

Gellert held out the wand and cast several nonverbal revelation spells, hoping to at least glimpse the great dynamics of the protections that kept those doors closed. The information he received from that action seemed particularly confusing and obscure, revealing a weave of magic of the most complex kind, involving spells of such frightening simplicity that they alone could have undermined the seriousness of the protection, with enchantments so implausible in their difficulty that Gellert himself doubted he could ever know them.

Meanwhile, the old headmaster, without letting go of his friendly smile that seemed to come straight out of a mundane conversation, took a few steps to the side to sit on one of the rocks lining the path, scattering his long purple robes around him. Gellert caught him out of the corner of his eye, and although most of his mind was still focused on what he was solving, he could not help but be annoyed by the old man's tranquility and serenity. He withdrew what he had previously thought. Albus' calm was not a strength. Just an irritating idiocy.

“**What?**" ended up spitting out a Gellert as frustrated by the presence of the director as he was by the spells he was trying to counteract. “**You're just going to stand here and watch me.**”

“**Yes, mostly.**”

Dumbledore looked cheerful, although someone who knew him as well as Gellert surely could have been able to see the seriousness and gravity in those clear eyes.

"**You're not going to try to stop me from undoing these spells?**”

“**No. I'm the one who put them in place. I know they will never be undone until I want them undone.**”

Gellert immediately lowered his wand. He had ego, more than his fair share, but last summer, he had been the privileged witness of his lover's unimaginable wonders. He knew that he was powerless to do anything about it. At least, magically. So he turned to Dumbledore after stuffing his wand into his trouser pocket.

"**What do you want?**”

“**To talk.**”

“**To talk? About what? How you let Albus leave Hogwarts?**”

“**It was either him or me. And if I had left, Professor Umbridge would have taken my place, endangering the welfare and safety of every student in my school. My young alter-ego knew that. He did not consult me, he did not hesitate. He immediately took the blame.**”

“**Yes! Because that's the way he is! He does that kind of crap when he thinks it's normal for him to put others first!**”

“**Don't you think you do the same thing when you put yourself in danger for your ideas.**”

“**But he's not me! He's not doing this to change the world! He's not even doing this for himself or because he believes in it! He's only doing this because it's... nice or kind or whatever.**”

“**Just like you, he believes that there are things that are more important than his comfort and he...**”

"**BUT HE IS NOT ME!**”

Gellert had shouted in the night, furious at this old man who understood nothing, who spoke to say nothing.

"**I don't care if anything happens to me. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. Merlin, since I was born, I've known that it will end badly for me. But not him. Not Albus. Just... Not Albus.**”

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment. He had a cloudy look on his face, as if that burst was exactly what he had expected and yet he seemed surprised that it had actually happened. Finally, the old man took a deep breath, and resumed in a voice so calm, so soft, that one would have thought it was only meant to calm a particularly angry and fragile child.

"**He is not dead, Gellert.**”

Grindelwald had all the trouble in the world to silence the unbearable feeling in his chest that was shouting at him.

"**He just left. He'll be back. And you know he's too smart to really risk anything.**”

“**So you don't think there's anything wrong, is that it?**" Gellert spat, sharply.

“**No, I just don't think that what’s wrong is there. The problem, Gellert, is not that Albus is in danger. Nor that he's even gone. It's that he left just when you needed him. I know this exact feeling, I've experienced it myself, so it would be useless for you to try to convince me that this is not what is burning you inside.**”

Gellert didn't answer, but that didn’t mean he thought any less of it. He felt something burning inside him. Anger, pure and bubbling anger. Slowly he slipped his hand into his pocket and tightened his fingers around the handle of his wand until his knuckles became shaky and white.

“**What did you hear in Nurmengard?**" Dumbledore said in that unbearably cautious voice. “**What did you understand?**”

“**What there was to understand.**”

“**I'd like to talk about it.**”

“**You've always loved talking so much. More than a passion for you. I'm tired of talking.**”

“**Have you ever really started?**”

“**I want to join him. I want to join him now.**”

“**I thought you always put reason before sentimentality. You don't even know where he is right now. What good it will do anyone if you were to leave Hogwarts, other than to reveal to your enemies how close you are?**”

“**Now.**”

“**It won't fix the fact that...**"

With a brusque, impulsive gesture, which nevertheless left his face cold and insensitive, Gellert took his wand out of his pocket and threw a violent Diffindo of pure precision, with the obvious intention of hurting and silencing the old headmaster. However, a microsecond later, just as the spell was forming at the end of the thorny wand, Dumbledore snapped his fingers, and the wand instantly metamorphosed into tiny black birds that flew out of the boy's angry, clenched hand. Of course, the boy knew how to use many spells without his weapon of choice. Not enough to win a duel against the great Dumbledore, but enough to hurt and satisfy this voracious impulse. But, blinded by this overflowing emotion, and, even more so, by those thoughts in his skull to which he could not give the slightest meaning and yet which were screaming in his ears, he did not think for a moment, and rushed towards the old man. He had no plan, no idea, just this ferocious white rage.

He didn't think he was really able to hit him. At least he wasn't sure. And it didn't matter. Nothing really made sense anymore. Nothing really ever did. So what was the point.

At the exact moment, however, when he should have hit Dumbledore head-on, Dumbledore made a slight sideways movement, late enough that Gellert had no chance to react. The boy, carried away by his momentum, almost stumbled forward, but the Headmaster, grabbing his shoulder, pulled him towards him to prevent him from falling. However, before Gellert could regain his balance, the older man had put his arm around him and held it tight, effectively preventing the younger one from make the slightest movement. The old man's long, thin fingers, wrapped around his wrists in an intractable grip, reduced him to helpless immobility.

Gellert, panting, still dazed by his own violent outburst, remained for a moment without understanding the situation, without understanding the night he saw before his eyes and the warmth he felt behind his back. And yet, when he should have gotten angry, barging into that hold that held him docile, letting this exponential rage explode, an idea hit him with full force, with more violence than if he had taken the Diffindo himself. At the moment when he had rushed to his former lover, at the moment when he had been so convinced of the rightness of hurting him, of wounding him, was the insane coldness he had felt in him similar in any way to the one he had seen in the eyes of his alter-ego, in that ramshackle and ravaged cell of Nurmengard?

Something in him hurt. Or more precisely, an already open wound had just come to his attention and, gasping for breath, Gellert felt his fury abandon him as he gradually lost all opposition to the grip that was holding him.

He wanted to see Albus.

Dumbledore, who seemed to understand the young man's interiority, put a second arm around his shoulders to prevent him from falling, weakened by his sudden loss of fighting spirit.

Gellert, with his now deserted spirit, couldn't help but notice this presence behind him, and even more so, he could not help but notice how this body he had known in the past was so foreign to him now. This was not Albus. Not even a pale reflection. Albus was quite different. He had grown too fast, and too thin, which had left him with a fragile body, unsuited to hardships and trials. Gellert had often told him that he was obviously too gentle for this world. Yet the man who held him against him at that moment seemed to be "adapted" to violence and conflict, despite his deceptive appearance. That man's life had left him with the body and mind of a soldier, when nothing in Albus, his Albus, could even suggest that he would ever be able to acquire such qualities. Was it Gellert who had thus metamorphosed this brilliant and naive boy he had met that summer?

"**He is fine, Gellert.**”

It was that unknown voice with familiar accents that had whispered this in his ear. This voice had aged so many years that it made her feel dizzy just by listening to it.

“**He's all right,**" Dumbledore continued. “**And so are you, Gellert. I promise you that you're fine, that everything will be all right. There's nothing wrong with you.**”

No, there was something rotten. Gellert slowly let himself slide on the wet, icy grass until he was on his knees. Dumbledore tightened his grip little by little until finally he let go and crouched down beside him, his face sad and ark, which in no way affected the young man.

"**I won't see him ever again.**”

“**Of course you will.**”

“**No, I won't see him again. I know I won't.**”

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, observing Gellert's face in detail before resuming in a murmur.

"**Did you have a vision?**”

Slowly, Gellert shook his head. But when Albus had closed the damn door to the damn common room earlier in the evening, he felt that this was the last chance he had to say goodbye. Dumbledore must have understood this, just as he seemed to understand everything that was going on in Gellert's insane mind, so he gently continued:

"**Gellert, you know your gift doesn't work like that. It is your visions that reveal the future. Nothing more. Forebodings are not prophecies. Just... vague impressions. You will see him again.**”

Dumbledore strongly doubted his ability to convince his former friend in this way. Gellert had always had a knack for not listening nor hearing anything he was told. So the old man decided to take a more practical approach.

"**What if you could see him again?**”

Gellert looked up at him with weary but attentive eyes.

"**What if, as soon as he's safe, I make sure he meets Vinda Rosier.**”

“**You know V...**”

“**I know every one of your real supporters. And I know what they do every hour, Gellert, more than you know yourself. If it was foolish to think that you could get in touch with your former right-hand woman without me knowing it, it was delusional to imagine that she could give something to Mr. Malfoy without me finding out. Judging by its provenance, I would say a Two-way Mirror. If Vinda agrees to give our mutual friend her own mirror, you will talk to him again. I promise you, Gellert. This is certainly not the end of your story.**”

* * *

* * *

"**He is so young, Albus. To let him go alone, in the middle of the night, in this weather. Couldn't his departure have waited until the next day?**”

The night was now drawing to a close but Professor Dumbledore was still wide awake. The flames of the candles in his office, bewitched so that they would never burn out, bathed the room in a bright orange light. Minerva and Severus, both as alert as he was, stood on the other side of the imposing wooden desk, their features tensed less by fatigue than by gravity. It was Minerva who had spoken, in a worried, dark voice, vocalizing a concern that had plagued her since the beginning of the catastrophic evening.

“**He'll be fine, Minerva,**" said Dumbledore, his eyes turned to the dark night that was just beginning to lighten on the other side of the large window. “**Even at that age, I was endowed with vastly underestimated resources. Besides, waiting would have put him in danger. It is likely that men and women would be send against him.**”

“**You imply that they will be send by the Dark Lord.**”

“**Mostly, yes. Waiting here for Voldemort to be informed of his expelling would have cost him a few precious minutes, if not hours.**”

“**If the Dark Lord is after him, we should never have let him go.**”

“**I agree with Severus. I don't understand, Albus. Why didn't we take him back to Grimmauld Place until the situation is stabilized? He would have been safe there.**"

Dumbledore straightened up and walked around the desk to the window he'd been staring out since the discussion began. The hills surrounding the school were beginning to take shape in the early morning. The first rays, still a simple greenish reflection in the sky, were reflected on the frost in myriads of ephemeral points of light. But the old man watched this spectacle without seeing it. His entire mind was turned to other matters. Despite the topic of the current conversation, all he could picture in his mind was this incredibly young Grindelwald, sitting alone on his bed, his Two-Way Mirror on his knees, waiting for a specific face to appear. He was more concerned about having left the boy alone, than about what worried Minerva and Severus. He understood the concern of his two old allies but did not share it. He knew that, although the two had been his alter-ego's teachers for nearly seven months, they greatly underestimated the young man's both magical and strategic abilities. Furthermore, he did not think that locking Albus up in Grimmauld Place was a good idea for many reasons.

Firstly, locking the young man up with a particularly bitter Sirius Black could only end badly. The Headmaster was not so blind as to ignore how isolation and inaction devoured the former prisoner's personality. And he also knew that his alter-ego, though at first glance most docile and polite, had himself many cracks in his character, and a certain trauma linked to confinement and immobility. To confine Albus to a suffocating environment risked sending him back to a deep despair. And while the Headmaster trusted Sirius to handle the situation to the best of his ability and maturity, he was not sure that the boy, hardly adult, would have the same possibilities. And, on the other hand, and this he kept quiet, even though neither of these two men was able to overcome the considerable ordeal of loneliness, one of them had a power of sabotage and a capacity for destruction far superior to that of the other. Dumbledore feared far less a Sirius Black enraged by isolation than his alter-ego deciding to oppose the Order.

Second, his strategic mind could not help but wonder what influence the wanderings of his alter-ego would have on Voldemort's paranoid psyche. Hearing that the young man was wandering around the world, without really knowing where he was but with the risk of seeing him appear at any moment, would surely occupy the dark lord's mind. As soon as Voldemort would understand that the young man is in no way kept away from danger, the Lord would surely consider the elimination of this threat as his priority, thus demanding him a great blind and exhausting mobilization of his armed forces. And every advantage would count in this war.

But the old man knew full well that neither of these two reasons would really be understood and accepted by his audience. So he settled for the simplest.

"**I have no doubt about his ability to get out of every situation he will face. As long as Voldemort himself doesn't come and attack him, he will be able to get rid of those who want to hurt him. And we know that Voldemort wants nothing less than to be confronted with me, no matter what form and appearance I take.**”

***

The Dark Lord, with his faithful Nagini at his side, was pacing the hall of the Malfoy mansion, where he had settled for the time being. The last few months had seen him constantly moving between different houses, all similar and yet all foreign. The Malfoy's, the Rosier's, the Goyle's, all merged in his mind, but he didn't care about that. Here or elsewhere, it didn't matter, the important thing was not to be seen. Voldemort was a patient being, and he knew he had to bide his time. But, that morning in particular, that quality of his was being severely tested.

"**Are you certain, Lucius?**"

As he asked his question, Voldemort did not give a single glance to the prostrate, terrified figure who had just brought him the information. Few of his followers inspired enough interest in him to warrant a glance, and Lucius was certainly not one of them.

"**Yes, Master. The Minister himself told me so. Last night, Potter and the young Dumbledore were caught disobeying one of the Secretary of State's education orders.**"

Voldemort couldn't stop a bad, satisfied smile from stretching his thin, whitish lips. When he had recovered his body and started to implement his plan, he had not imagined such help from the Minister. But this fool of Fudge seemed to want to do everything to help the Dark Lord return to power. And he certainly wasn't going to complain about it. Seeing his only real enemies alienated in this way gave him a cold and cruel joy.

"**And what happened to them?**”

“**The young Dumbledore claimed full responsibility for the act. He said it was his doing. Potter got nothing, but young Dumbledore was fired. And the old Professeur was put on probation. He remains Headmaster of Hogwarts, but the High Inquisitor will have to approve all his future actions. After all, he has shown himself incapable of forcing his students to follow the laws.**”

That helped their plans. Greatly. The old man was losing more and more of his powers. Voldemort would have almost nothing to do to defeat him, if the situation continued to improve like this.

"**When will the expelled student leave the school? This could be a unique opportunity for us.**”

“**He has already left school.**”

Voldemort stopped suddenly and turned abruptly towards Lucius.

"**Say that again, Lucius?**"

The Death Eater must have sensed from his master's voice that he hadn't liked the information. The time when Malfoy was the glorious leader of the Death Eaters was long gone. Today, he knew he was in constant danger. Since the loss of his Lord's diary, Lucius was eager to prove his worth again. But because of his special position in the Ministry, he found himself more often than not having to deliver bad news.

"**He... He left that evening, Master. As soon as he was informed of his expelling, he left immediately, alone. He said he would wait for the next train to London at The Three Broomsticks, but he never made it to the village. He disappeared somewhere between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.**”

“**Are the Aurors looking for him?**”

“**No, My Lord. He was kicked out of school for his misdeed, but he is not being prosecuted in any way. The Minister is simply happy to be rid of the boy. He doesn't care where he can disappear to.**”

“**The Minister is a fool if he thinks he's got rid of him...** "

Voldemort, now unaware of Lucius' very existence, slowly made his way to the seat that had been placed for him in the center of the hall. Nagini, anxious for her master's agitation, quickly wrapped herself around his legs, resting her head on the barely-man's black draped knees.

Dumbledore, or at least a vague reflection of him, was wandering somewhere in the world. Did the old Headmaster intend to use his alter-ego on the battlefield, or did he hope to keep it safe until the last moments? Should Voldemort prepare for the young wizard to appear in his most obvious hideout? He didn't even know what level to expect from the mysterious figure who had invited itself on the chessboard. Severus had portrayed him as a brilliant mind, with an obvious magical gift, but Voldemort was able to get rid of a simple school genius without any problem. Was the young man more powerful than Voldemort had hoped? Or, more than that, was he hiding his true level from the teachers, especially Severus? Knowing the old version of the man, the Dark Lord did not doubt for a moment that this was possible.

Voldemort's hatred for Dumbledore goes back to the origins. If, when they first met, the young boy had thought he was the brilliant bearer of long-awaited news, the first sentences exchanged left him with a strange aftertaste, and his arrival at Hogwarts turned that strangeness into bitterness and then resentment. When Voldemort was still a student, Dumbledore was the brilliant teacher whom everyone adored and admired, and the young mind of the boy who was still called Tom saw great danger in this luminous figure. The wizard was then the only one who could see the truth behind the cracks in the young man's varnished mask, to see the monster being born behind these angelic features. And Tom then had always grown up with this strange anxiety that the mistrust of this man that all divinized was being passed on from person to person.

Then Voldemort had left Hogwarts, and with the school, the oppressive silhouette of this genius surpassing him. He had traveled the world, explored paths that no other man had even supposed, awakened to virgin and superior magic, and when he returned decades later, he was a very different man, and Dumbledore had not changed. He was still that old emotional madman, unable to develop his full potential because he was haunted by fears and considerations so human, so trivial that he prevented himself from becoming what his abilities could have made him. At that moment, Voldemort had lost all form of respect for this figure, who had nevertheless been the one borrowed by fate to inform him of his status as a wizard, of being exceptional. To tell the truth, his very existence irritated him to the utmost. How could such a ridiculous man, so unambitious, always impose himself as his equal. How could he, Lord Voldemort, find himself on the same level as this senile professor who, in seventy years of life, had never used his powers, except for this unique duel in 1945? Did Dumbledore take pleasure in leading an insignificant life despite his exceptional potential? Was he really content to be satisfied with speeches about the power of love, rather than looking for real powers?

All in all, while he still feared Dumbledore for his undoubted mastery of magic, he also knew that the old man was heading inexorably towards his own end, and that he had wasted his life on nonsense and fairy tales. But this young reflection, this alter-ego coming from nothingness... If he decided to really act up to his potential and not let his moral principles reduce him to impotence, he could be a real enemy. An enemy that had to be eradicated.

“**Tell me,**" Voldemort asked none other than himself, "**where would a sentimental fool like Dumbledore seek refuge?**”

* * *

* * *

The sign indicating the entrance to Godric's Hollow creaked in the wind, letting out a strange and sad melody as Albus returned to his childhood village for the first-time in... well... almost a century. The young man closed his heavy coat around him in a vain attempt to warm his icy body. The morning dawned, the sky shyly adorned in pinkish and light blue. It was warmer here than in Scotland, but the breeze was violent and merciless. Or perhaps it was just loneliness.

Albus, as far back as he can remember, had always been cold at Godric's Hollow, even in the middle of summer. The lethargy, the indifference, the isolation, the certainty of being misunderstood and of being so forever, these were the ideas and words that Albus attached to the dusty and irregular streets of this rural village. He had always dreamed of the big cities, of the turbulence and tumult of the megalopolises. And his mother had decided, to accommodate Ariana, to start their new life deep in the English countryside, in the middle of nowhere. As a child, Albus had often thought he would die here. Before falling asleep at night, he often wondered if he would wake up, or if he would disappear without ever having done anything in his life, this village devouring who he could have been to digest it in oblivion and indifference. He had dreamed of a life of travel and adventure. Of recognition and success, above all. The world tour with Elphias should have been the first exploits of an existence filled with greatness. Of course, Albus had accomplished two or three things long before. He had, after all, the Order of Merlin 2nd class, and had been published in a number of internationally renowned journals. Everyone in his day knew that he was destined for an exceptional life, and that his biography would one day be a whole chapter in history textbooks. But that didn't seem to be enough for Albus. It never was. He needed much more.

His absent footsteps led him down a path he knew only too well, having trodden it himself many times. Finally, in the shadows of that weak morning, the young man began to catch a glimpse of the silhouette of the house where he had spent his summers. Nothing had changed, or almost nothing. There was still the small garden at the entrance, right next to the wooden gate covered with moss. The flat stone path that led to the door was certainly more dusty, but it still curved strangely next to the beginning of a shrub that had never really managed to grow straight. The house itself stood humbly on the same eroded wooden and stone foundation that Albus had known and hated. All this reminded him of some memories, some ghosts running through this garden that had welcomed his summers. Reminiscences that shouldn't have been so old, but at that moment Albus could truly feel on his shoulders the weight of the century that separated him from that house.

Slowly, timidly, he pushed the old wobbly gate. He barely remembered his house in Mould-On-The-Wold. Only bits and pieces. Grey stones, the threatening shadows under the stairs, the bin of old clothes in the attic. Conversely, he remembered every detail of the one at Godric's Hollow. He knew how many stones could be seen under the attic, the moisture stains on the cellar wall, the cracks in the tool shed, the splinters in his bedroom window, the rancid smell of the tiny pantry where his mother kept the meats to dry. All of this was so deep in his memory that the smallest details came to light without him struggling to remember them. And yet, all this was tinged with a greyish and undifferentiated halo, nothing stood out from this richness of memory except a persistent impression of sadness and apathy, while his very early childhood, full of dreams still shining and oversized, appeared with all the warm colors of joy and exaltation. He may have had few memories, but many more emotions.

A sudden but light noise stopped Albus in the middle of the garden. He wasn't sure what he was doing there, what he wanted to find in that old house, but suddenly, as he felt in familiar territory despite the melancholy of the place, he was surprised to feel, deep down, the persistent uneasiness of being in the exact place where he wasn't supposed to be. What had just exploded his sense of belonging was actually a burst of laughter, loud and clear, no doubt belonging to a child who was still very young, coming from the house. Quickly, Albus, seized with a strange feeling of shame, as if he had been caught in a reprehensible act, crouched behind the shrub that had grown so badly that it now formed a strange, dense and dead bush. In the shelter of his hiding place, and as the sun rose into the sky, the anxious young man had the opportunity to observe through the window that opened onto the dining room the figures he had not seen until now. A young woman in her early twenties was sitting at the dining table, in the place that his own mother used to occupy until... until she no longer occupied it. The young woman, with black hair, held a spoon in her hand and waved it in the air, hoping to amuse the tiny boy sitting on a highchair, in the place that should have belonged to Aberforth. For a few seconds, Albus remained silent, his eyes wide open and his heart beating, stunned by the vision. The young genius wondered if it was all in his head. If his childhood ghosts hadn't caught up with him in a much more tangible, and much more painful form. A dream version of his childhood memories, where his family would have been happy, happy enough to laugh like that in the early hours of the morning. Where the house would have seemed full to bursting point with two people, instead of empty and cold with four.

But he had to face the facts. It was not a dream memory. Not even a simple memory. It was reality in its least poetic and most insensitive form. This house was no longer his. Time had passed, lives had continued to be lived, and the house was now filled with other stories, other ambitions, and other dramas. His, hardly any vague memories, a few cracks on the facades, had faded away. And this house, which had never really been his, Albus wanted to mourn its loss. He had lost his mother. And his sister. And his brother, it seemed, at the same time. All to follow Gellert. And, if he didn't regret it, today, on that second morning in April, it was cold, Gellert was far away, and the house in which he had suffered so much was no longer even his own.

Suddenly exhausted, Albus straightened himself up and, without a sound, without a complaint, left this house from which he had been a stranger at all times. Why had he returned to Godric's Hollow. What exactly did he hope to find? A semblance of normalcy? Some still-present traces of something that would finally be real to him? Albus was sincerely unaware of this. Nothing really made sense, yet his steps had led him to Godric's Hollow. It was as if he would find here a relief, a consolation to the deep sense of heartbreak he had felt since he had awakened from that photo. But if Albus could discern this feeling, he could not explain it to himself, for he could not see how Godric's Hollow, this desert, this empty, this lethargic Godric's Hollow could hold the slightest answer on any subject.

And as this bitter thought settled in his mind, Albus was suddenly absorbed by a yellowish light emanating from the house across the street as he made his way up the path to the heart of the village. He stopped for a few moments to look at the old, quirky building, just like the person who had lived there for so long. And who perhaps was still...

Not knowing what he was doing, Albus approached the house. After all, coming here in times of trouble had always seemed natural to him. And just walking along the dirt path between the honeysuckle trees had already given him a sense of comfort and confidence. He didn't know if what he was doing was particularly silly or not, but it seemed like the right thing to do. And when he knocked lightly at the old wooden door, he knew everything would be all right.

For a while, nothing happened, so Albus was about to repeat his action when the door opened wide on a tiny little woman whom the young man recognized immediately. In spite of the wrinkles, in spite of the stunted silhouette, in spite of the transparent and fragile skin, Albus immediately recognized this figure that had been so helpful to him. Bathilda Bagshot, the only ray of intoxication in the monotony of Godric's Hollow. Certainly she was older, but Bathilda had always been old. In reality, nothing seemed much different from what Albus had known. And it was surely for this very reason that the young boy, hardly a man, immediately took refuge in the arms of the old woman who had barely enough time to open them to welcome him.

Albus closed his eyes to soak up the smell and warmth of the old woman. Neither had changed. So, as long as the embrace lasted, Dumbledore had plenty of time to imagine that he was back in his own time. That all was well in his world.

“**There, there,**" exclaimed a rough but much more trembling voice than Albus had expected, "**what's the matter, Albus?**”

Bathilda had always been surly and cranky, not very inclined to small talk and other sociabilities. But she had always been sincerely concerned about her young neighbor, and despite her abrupt tone, Albus could sense a obvious solicitude. Yet he really had no desire to dwell too much in the meanderings of his moods. So he straightened up and forced a smile on his lips.

"**Nothing, Mrs. Bagshot. All is well.**”

“**Generally, when you lie, you make a little more effort. But it doesn't matter, don't stay in the entrance, well, you see that you make the draughts come in!**”

Albus quickly apologized and, after entering the home, closed the door behind him. A strong musty smell attacked him immediately. Bathilda had never been a neat freak. On the contrary, her house was always a chaos of books, objects, and useless junk. In that aspect, she looked a lot like her grand-nephew who would be unable to put away any of his things even if it could save the world. Albus had spent most of his last summer keeping his lover's room in a decent state, not being able to bear to see the books, quills and notebooks scattered all over the tiny room. But this house was in worse shape than his last seven years of life had accustomed him to. Surely the old woman no longer had the strength to dust, or even care. And, to be honest, today Albus didn't care either. Bathilda took him by the shoulder and rough-hewnly guided him to the table where she sat him down.

"**You'll have a cup of tea, won't you?**”

“**Uh... yes, please.**”

The old woman then walked, with her rolling gait, to the kitchen corner where she fought for a while with a match to light the gas that would heat the kettle. Her hands and fingers, broken by the years, were visibly no longer as dexterous as Albus had known them to be.

"**Do you want me to do it?**" he offered.

"**Nonsense, why would I want that?**"

Albus did not insist. Bathilda had always been an independent woman, who had not needed anyone's help to build herself up, and the young man was not going to doubt her abilities today. And if he could ignore the obvious evidence of the years he had lost, he would do so willingly. In the end, the historian seemed to win the battle as the fire was lit and the water began to heat up slowly.

"**You want biscuits, of course you want biscuits.**"

Albus didn't answer, simply watching the old lady bustling around in that tiny, cluttered living space. When she put a plate of cookies in front of him, however, she stopped abruptly.

"**Why are you dressed like that?**”

The young man lowered his eyes on his outfit. As he entered, he had politely removed his coat, which he had placed on the back of his seat, and he was now dressed only in his school uniform.

"**I didn't have time to change.**”

“**Change what?**”

“**Well, my uniform...**”

“**Is that your uniform?**”

Albus looked down again. Nothing seemed strange to him about his red and gold tie and grey sweater. Of course, it wasn't the one he'd been used to wearing in the last century, but it had been the Hogwarts uniform for several decades now. Why did Bathilda seem to care?

“**Whatever,**" she says, finally giving up when she hears the water whistling loudly on the stove.

She walked in a small hurried step to the kettle and lifted it to serve two small cups at the brim. She then brought the steaming teas back to the table where she put them down, before sitting down herself.

"**Come on, tell me everything. What happened,**" she said.

“**Oh, it would take so much time, and would be so hard to explain...**”

Albus painfully gathered his memories and thoughts. Where should he start? With the photo, surely... But what would Bathilda think of this act of magic so dark that they had both perpetrated? If the young man didn't care what the rest of the world thought, Bathilda was, along with Gellert, the only person whose opinion he cared about and whose disappointment he couldn't bear.

"**Did you have another fight with your brother?**”

Surprised, Albus raised his head. This was not false in itself, but it was low on his list of problems.

"**Yes, I suppose, but that's not....**”

“**You know, you're both going to end up driving your mother crazy if you keep fighting like this.**”

The silence settled in a great uneasiness, only disturbed by the clattering of the big antique clock that was gathering dust in a corner of the living room. After the beginning of the summer, Bathilda, probably to spare her young neighbor, had gotten into the habit of not evoking the late mother Dumbledore. She had even instilled this principle in Gellert. Her use of her figure in such an open manner, and in such a context, was surprising. Albus tried to ignore the bad presentiment that was growing inside him and that told him that something strange was going on. After all, it had been almost a century for the historian. Perhaps she wasn't as careful today as she was then.

“**I...**" Albus began cautiously, "**don't think that's what our mother cares about the most.**”

“**What then?**”

“**I don't know. I think being dead is a greater cause for concern than watching her two sons fighting.**”

Albus had never liked the idea that the dead watched over those who were left behind. Death was death, period. The young man was no longer young enough to be reassured by a couple of hastly imagined fairy tales. Only the living still cared about the living. But Bathilda didn't seem to understand what he was saying. She squinted her eyes, visibly really lost, and for a moment Albus felt as if she had not been informed of Kendra's sad end. But in the end, he face cracked an annoyed look that her interlocutor could not explain.

“**Yes, of course,**" she finally said. “**That doesn't mean that you and Aberforth should argue. What was the topic this time?**”

“**I don't know what it was about. We didn't really argue, strictly speaking. And it wasn't even that important. Afterwards, it can't be said that the reunion was as joyful as one might hope.**”

Again, for an instant, Bathilda squinted her eyes, as if Albus' words had no meaning for her, but suddenly, seeming to surprise herself, her incomprehension disappeared and was replaced by an uncertain smile.

“**Yes, of course,**" she finally mumbled.

The conversation stopped abruptly again, leaving Albus anxious. Bathilda had always been particularly talkative. One word was enough to encourage her to monologue for hours on any subject she was passionate about. But now she seemed... different. More uncertain, and more erratic in her speech, so much so that Albus was actually afraid to restart the conversation. For a long time, he was content to sip his tea, while the old woman looked at the ceiling with an absent look. When he had finished, he attacked the biscuits to occupy his mouth and hands, but the silence became unbearable.

"**They're... very good.**”

It had not at all the taste that they kept in Albus' memories. They were much sweeter and softer then, it seemed to him. Today, they gave the impression that someone had simply poured sugar into the dough without worrying about balance or quantity. But Bathilda's disastrous cooking skills were a subject on which the old woman suffered no criticism, and Albus had learned to hold his tongue. Yet her homemade biscuits were the only thing the historian was used to succeeding at. The recipe had surely changed in a century, but the young man didn't feel like telling her it was for the worst.

"**It's very...**”

The silence was again heavy and demanded to be interrupted.

"**...very sweet... I love sweet.**"

At first, he thought Bathilda hadn't heard him because she didn't look away from her ceiling, but finally, looking a little dreamy, she started to smile.

"**I have a neighbor like that.**”

“**Really?**" Albus asked, eager to have a decent conversation.

“**Yes. He loves sugar, too, it’s pathological. He moved in with his mother, brother and sister not long ago. A really charming boy.**”

She leaned over Albus, a broad smile on her lips, visibly amused by the memory she was reliving.

"**One day, shortly after they had moved in, I went to help the mother clear the back door, and when we came in, the boy, not very old really, barely knee-high, came in and proudly told us that he had prepared breakfast for us. We played along, and when we sat down at the table, he served us two plates. He had tried to make Pumkin Pastry himself - yes, for breakfast - but, finding that it wasn't sweet enough, he had turned his quills into sugar, thinking that's how you make Sugar Quill and stuffed it into the dough. It was inedible. His mother was furious that he had destroyed his brand new quills like that. I was very impressed that he was capable of such a transfiguration even though he hadn't yet entered Hogwarts. But unfortunately, I couldn't pretend that it was edible... The poor little one looked so sad.**”

“**I...**"

Albus hesitated for a moment to say what he had on the tip of his tongue, but finally, with anxious suspicion, he whispered.

"**I know, Mrs. Bagshot. It was me.**”

Bathilda did not answer at first, visibly very shaken for a moment, but then she seemed to pull herself together and a trembling smile stretched her lips as she remained silent. Albus felt compelled to look away, however. He felt as if his remark had shaken the old woman's confidence, as if it had been a confrontation. He must have been right somehow, for as soon as he cut eye contact, Bathilda gradually regained her confidence and started again:

"**Are you here to see Gellert? He's not here.**”

"**I kno... I mean, thank you for telling me.**"

"**I don't know when he's coming home. You can wait for him in his room, if you want.**”

“**I'll do that.**”

Albus finished his last piece of biscuit, offered a polite and hesitant smile to the old woman, and after getting up, he left to go to the stairs. He almost had the impression that he had found refuge upstairs. Obviously, the time had done a lot of damage here as well. And it would have been an illusion to hope to find Bathilda as he had left her. But he preferred not to think too much about it for the moment. As long as he didn't think about it, the illusion continued, and that was the most important thing as of now. So he went up the stairs, silently so as not to disturb the historian. He immediately recognized, to the right of the upstairs corridor, the door he had opened so many times to go to the guest room that had become Gellert's room when he had joined his aunt that summer. Feeling his anxiety vanishing, Albus opened the door. He knew that here, at least, everything would be all right.

The room hadn't changed at all. Albus even doubted that anyone had entered it since the occupant had left. A monstrous layer of dust hid the floor beneath a grayish carpet, and traces of mold and mildew ran across the walls and ceiling, but every object had stayed where it was. The balled up blankets that Gellert could never be bothered to lay flat on the bed, the open German books on the desk, a few forgotten sheets of music on the floor, the Durmstrang uniform top in which Albus huddled during their long nights of talking, the improvised perch they had built for Albus' owl, the travel bag that Gellert had barely had time to make before running away from home, and which he had never really undone. Nothing had changed, and except for the ravages of time, Albus could almost have believed that it was the 1899 sun shining behind the filthy window, and that Gellert could come in at any time, throwing his jacket on his desk and dropping on the bed before monologuing about the unbearable boredom of Godric's Hollow.

Albus could not help smiling. He didn't really know why. He was exhausted from a night of waking and Apparating, and his situation hadn't improved at all. But this one room comforted him, and for a moment he could hear their voices, which had all the accents of innocence and candor that they no longer really had today. Slowly, the young man approached the desk. He was curious to see what the last books their alter-egos had read before they left Godric's Hollow. He was not surprised to discover a scratched and annotated version of Also sprach Zarathustra. Muggle poetry and philosophy had always had an important place in the heart of the young Germanic, and Nietzsche even more so, although he disagreed with him profoundly on as many subjects as could be found. Gellert had spent long nights explaining in detail what an idiot Zarathustra was, and how he himself was going to reveal himself to the world as a far better prophet than the hero of his favorite bedside book. What surprised Albus more, however, was the little notebook with the dark blue leather cover that was also on the desk. He recognized it immediately, it was Gellert's notebook of thoughts that the young man had been carrying around since his earliest years. As a very young child, he had bewitched him so that it would always have new pages to offer, and since then this little blue notebook had never left him, accompanying each of his thoughts, each of his impulses, each of his nonsense.

Albus was surprised to find it there. Of course, he knew that Gellert didn't have it. They had thought it too dangerous to keep it in the photo, at the risk of someone stealing it and noticing the date of the last entries. But the young British man would have thought that his lover's alter ego would have it in his possession, or it would have been lost somewhere in history. But not that it would have been left there, with no one to come and get it back. Why didn't Gellert have it when he left Godric's Hollow?

It didn't matter. It was, after all, only a diary, and Albus doubted that anyone would be able to understand the author's muddled thoughts it contained. But nevertheless, leaving behind such a personal object for his lover did not feel right to him, so he took the little notebook in his hands. He obviously had no intention of reading it, he would never do such a thing. But giving it back to its rightful owner wouldn't hurt anyone.

So he slipped the notebook under his sweater but almost dropped it immediately. A loud noise under his feet, similar to an explosion, had just made him jump violently. Barely a second later, a second sound, like a detonation followed by the fall of an object, echoed and Albus ran out of the room. Taking out his wand, he hurried down the stairs back to the living room he had left. The sight that awaited him there took him by surprise.

The table, which took up most of the room, was split in half cleanly and precisely, as if an object had hit him head on. The door had come off its hinges and, curved by some force, lay several meters from the entrance. But far more worrisome than the material damage, Albus saw in a split second that Bathilda, eyes closed, lay on the floor in the rubble of her clock and six masked figures standing in front of the open doorframe. The young man did not have time to feel the slightest fear that a green light flashed towards him. Instinctively, almost beyond his control, a powerful shield shot from his wand and the Avada Kedavra ricocheted off the whitish wall before being sent back toward the ceiling.

The rest was lost in a torrent of lightning and detonation. Albus had never really fought anyone in a duel before entering the DA. He knew he could do it, but he wasn't interested. Unlike Gellert, he was a scholar, not a warrior. Thus, having been accustomed to the more than correct but still childish level of Harry, Ron and Hermione, he was surprised to find himself confronted with real accomplished wizards, here to kill. For a few moments, he found himself on the defensive, not knowing what behavior to adopt, before his survival instinct takes over and he really gets into the fight. He lowered his shield; it was time to retaliate. Three spells were currently flashing towards him. Two appeared to be Avada Kedavra because of their characteristic green color, the third, transparent, simply visible by a strange halo, was probably a Crucio, or perhaps a spell of human transfiguration, although this was less likely. Albus did not wish to experiment with any of the three. At full speed, he reached out both hands in front. The one armed with his wand, the more precise of the two, he directed it toward one of the Avada Kedavra, whose trajectory he deviated to strike the second spell, and the two clashed violently and disappeared. At the same time, Albus, with the help of his second hand and some nonverbal spells, regained control of the attack that was left and managed to deflect it more precisely, making it turn around to hit one of the six silhouettes with full force. The latter was thrown into the air and hit the wall behind them. A few heart-rending cries escaped them before they lost consciousness.

The five remaining enemies were not moved by their friend's fate and rushed to form an impenetrable circular arc. Albus counterattacked the next two hexes, but was unable to do any damage in return. However, he felt more than he saw a Reducto coming from the figure furthest to his right. In a split second, without a word, Albus transfigured himself into a myriad of tiny red birds that scattered through the air. The spell flew through the cloud without touching any of the birds, and as Albus' body re-formed just behind it, it continued its course until it hit the silhouette in front of it, whose body literally shattered under the intensity of such power.

Dumbledore remained for a moment stunned by this violence, but he hardly had the opportunity to dwell on his feelings; there remained four other assailants, and the very present possibility of dying here. One spell came faster than the others, and Albus fell to his knees to avoid it. In this new position, he was able to place one hand on the ground and, whispering an old incantation, he made the stone liquid beneath his opponents' feet. Some, though unbalanced, were quick enough to get out, but two of them did not have the necessary reactivity and began to sink into the ground. They tried to struggle, to use their magic, but it was useless, the rock responded to the wishes of its new master and did not let go of its grip. If the two attackers still standing had rushed to help their friends, the four of them could have made it, but Dumbledore had cleverly guessed that they would not. So all he had to do was raise his shield again and wait for the two unfortunate men to be buried to the neck, after which he resolidified the stone around them, imprisoning them with no hope of release, unable as they were to move their bodies or cast spells.

Without rejoicing in this victory - there was, after all, nothing to rejoice about in this whole situation - Albus created a powerful jet of water from the end of his wand, using his left hand to control it. The young man knew that he would be unable to kill them, but he could stop them from moving and returning fire. The two silhouettes, obviously the most skillful of the group, immediately created a powerful shield that stopped the water. But the said water was not a spell. It was not a flash, but a continuous and growing pressure. Soon the shields cracked and shattered under the power of the jet, throwing both bodies against the wall. Weakened by the faint magical protection, the force was not strong enough to stun them, but Albus redoubled his efforts, creating a greater flow, preventing his attackers from moving or even breaking away from the wall. Then, slowly, he began to freeze the water around the two bodies.

Seeing what he was doing, one of the two silhouettes, visibly less stunned by the shock than the other, attempted a riposte. Twisting their wrist slightly, they hurled a spell that, made approximate by the difficulty of the wand's movement, hit Albus in the shoulder. The young man immediately felt his flesh tearing and his shirt becoming weighed down with blood, but he forced himself to remain focused. It was superficial, for now, but releasing his attack could lead to his death. The ice spread faster and faster and the attackers had no opportunity to make another attempt and they found themselves locked in icy cocoon.

Finally, out of breath, Albus lowered his wand. The fight was over. Those stuck in the stone continued to struggle needlessly, but they would be unable to fight their way out alone. Those in their ice prison could die if they were not released quickly, but the young man sensed that back-ups were probably on their way. This meant that he had to escape and quickly. Without further ado, he rushed to Bathilda, still on the ground. His hand was shaking, bloody from his open wound on his shoulder, and he looked for a pulse. When he found nothing but a cold, lifeless skin, he felt his heart miss several beats and his breathing shorten.

But he couldn't think about it for the moment. If he thought about it even for a split seconde, he would be unable to let go of it. And he had to leave. He knew he had to leave. So he got up and took a few steps back. He wanted to put his wand in his pocket but realized that he was unable to loosen his fist and release his weapon. So he kept it between his whitish fingers, walked to his coat amidst the debris, put it on to hide the growing bloodstain, and finally walked out into the peaceful morning of Godric's Hollow.

* * *

* * *

Vinda was sitting in one of the private salons of the Rosiers Mansion. She was waiting. She knew that the other Rosiers - cousins since she herself had never had children - were anxious in the corridors of the estate. But that didn't affect her. She was now too old to worry about anything. And she felt once again the absolute confidence that had not left her during her years at Grindelwald's side. Everything would happen as it was meant to happen. All she had to do was wait. She had dismissed from the compound everyone whose interference would be unwelcome, and she had sat here all night. But she could wait much longer.

Although it was not necessary. After a brief announcement, the door opened. Vinda barely recognized one of the new servants of the cause, whose name she did not yet know. She focused only on what the tense young man had to say.

"**He is here, Madam.**”

“**Well, send him in.**”

The messenger disappeared and the door opened wider. Finally, the one she was waiting for entered the room. He was young, of course. Younger than she could have imagined. He had tousled brown hair, pale and trembling hands, covered in blood, clutching around his wand and, between his left fingers, a small piece of paper on which was written the address of the mansion, in Grindelwald's irregular handwriting. And he had blue eyes that she would have recognized among a thousand. Eyes that she had hated like those of her worst enemy. Eyes which had robbed her of her leader, her greatest friend, and her reason for living. Eyes she was now supposed to consider her best ally.

"**Good morning, Dumbledore. Welcome to the family.**”


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> It seems that I'm now out of the bad place. This chapter came so quickly to me, I'm kinda amazed. I thought about keeping it for a while, but then decided that you had to wait so much between the last one and the before, that I could give you the new one right away.
> 
> Anyway, hope you're gonna like it!

**Chapter 16**

The deliciously hot, floral-scented vapors danced lazily in the airs as Albus came out of the shower. He had only left Hogwarts a dozen hours earlier, but he felt as if he had been carrying weeks of dirt with him, which he had struggled to clean up. And his shaky, tense muscles had required all the care of hot water to stop their protest. Finally, after what must have been a good half hour of lounging, the young man decided to leave the comfort of the cabin. He was then able to notice that someone, probably the house elf because he had neither seen nor heard anything, had left a thick white towel and, right next to it, clean and warm clothes. Albus was still unsure whether coming by himself to this mansion had been the right thing to do, but if he were to die from that decision, at least he would be killed in comfort.

He quickly wrapped the soft shower sheet around his wet body and, savoring the sensation against his skin, he walked to the mirror just above the sink. With the back of his hand, he wiped off the condensation before contemplating his reflection. The exhaustion could be read clearly on his face. His features were drawn and hollowed out, and his cheeks were even paler than usual. His eyes, a few shades darker than what they used to be, were ringed with red and seemed to struggle to stay open or close.

Albus loosened the towel a little and uncovered his shoulder. Thanks to the help of one of Vinda's friends - or cousin, or colleague, he didn't quite know to be honest - the wound had healed and only an angry and painful red scar remained, but nothing that time would not be able to make disappear. On his arrival, which seemed to have been expected, Albus had wanted to talk about many things, but Gellert's former lieutenant, who was obviously the indisputable head of the place, had quickly noticed his condition and insisted that the interview should be postponed. So Albus had had time to go up to the room that had been prepared for him, and to take a long and restful shower, but he did not know whether he had made the right choice in coming here. He would have liked to stay a few more hours in the opaque fumes of this bathroom, but he knew that the questions that had been postponed could not suffer any longer to be ignored. So he dried himself quickly, taking more time and gentleness at the spot of his wound, and went to the clothes. He was surprised to discover light blue pajamas, but when he put them on, he was forced to notice his colossal level of fatigue.

Once dressed, he put on over a robe that had been left for him, tied it around his waist, and walked out of the bathroom. It was adjacent to the room he had been allocated. This chamber was large and tastefully decorated. The bed, particularly imposing, made of solid wood and with chrome green draperies with golden embroidery, took up most of the space. The rest was taken up by a chaise longue framed by two velvet-covered armchairs, an ebony cabinet and matching sideboard, and at the foot of the bed, a bench that elegantly concealed a storage box. Finally, a large French window opened onto an outside balcony, offering a breathtaking view of the garden. Clearly, this room, in a Louis XV style, was one of the main rooms of the manor. Was it Gellert who asked them to welcome him in this way? He was the one who gave him the address, and Vinda seemed to have waited for him. Had Gellert _seen_ that he was going to be expelled from Hogwarts? If so, that must have been why he had given him the address, the exact night he had found himself with nowhere else to go.

"**Is your room suitable for you?**”

Albus walked away from the view offered by the large windows and turned towards the entrance of the room. Vinda stood in the doorway. She walked a few steps forward before closing the door behind her.

The old woman must have been nearly a century old, Albus judged. It was always difficult to tell for wizards and witches, who aged very unevenly from one individual to another. Especially since Vinda seemed to have only some of the attributes of old age. She had white hair, gathered in a elaborated bun, and wrinkled face and hands. However, she had a long, straight silhouette, a proud chin and a strong head carriage. To have seen her move, her gestures were quick and assured, filled with as much grace as strength. That morning, she was dressed in a water-green wizard's robe, glued to her body in a martial cut, which emphasized the straightness of her back and the finesse of her shoulders.

"**Did you have it prepared for me?**"

In just a few short steps Vinda walked to the center of the space and looked around her as if she was judging the room for the first time.

“**Yes**," she finally announced in a bored voice. “**Gellert has asked us to welcome you in suitable conditions. It's the best we could do in such a short time.**”

“**He asked you to do that?**”

“**Yes, yesterday, late in the evening. He also asked us to put the Two-Way Mirror we are communicating with at your disposal. You will find it in the top drawer of the cabinet.**”

“**So you really work for him?**”

Rosier gave this question a simple condescending smile, the kind that an unpatient adult would have given to a child who thought he was showing intelligence by spouting evidence. However, Albus was not at all offended. He didn't care about cordiality as long as he got some answers, and Vinda seemed willing to give them. Again, she took a few steps and, stretching her dress around her after crossing her legs severely, she sat down on the chaise longue. The young man followed her and sat down on one of the two armchairs, leaning slightly forward, ready to listen to every word that was offered to him.

“**The Rosier family**," Vinda began, "**is in a, shall we say, delicate position.**”

“**It's not very reassuring for me.**”

“**There's nothing to worry about. As long as Gellert wishes you alive, no harm will come to you under this roof.**”

"_For as long as Gellert wishes you alive_". Even though Albus knew this in theory, it was still impossible for him to get used to the fact that some people might believe him to be Grindelwald's enemy. As if he could have anything to fear from him.

"**So you are the servants of two masters?**”

“**Not exactly. First of all, Gellert is not a master. Rather... a guide. But even so, each of us knows where our loyalty lies. I cannot promise you that there is not a single Rosier who is not a sincere follower of the Dark Lord. After all, it's a big family. But those misguided people are kept away from our real cause.**”

“**So you play a double game, pretending to serve Voldemort while working for Gellert's interests.**”

“**Only very recently, in fact.**”

“**Maybe if you went back to the beginning.**”

Vinda had a mocking grin but finally shrugged her shoulders. Obviously, while she was naturally proud and haughty, this did not mean she was not willing to explain herself, so Albus overcame the coldness of her face without difficulty.

"**It all starts with Gellert and me, really. When I first met him, I knew that this would be the beginning of a great story. I was nine years old at the time, and he was twenty. He was young, in a hurry, full of dreams and certainties, a no-name. I was the heiress of the Rosier family. At that time, my only real companion was boredom. I had everything and wanted nothing. Every day was a distressing monotony. The same faces, the same words, the same stakes. Until the evening when he arrived.**

“**My parents had given a reception, and everyone was there. The high-society, and Gellert. I still don't know how he got in. But I noticed him right away. He didn't belong there. I think he was there looking for the money to get his project off the ground. He had a few supporters, already, but nobody knew him. In other words, this evening didn't do him much good. He was centuries ahead of these people. So his speeches on freedom, justice and revolution did not move anyone. I remember very well that my father laughed at him. In a language so aristocratic that he thought Gellert would be incapable of understanding it. I think he understood it. Anyway, my parents kicked him out of their house.**

"**But for me, something had happened. I didn't understand half of the words he used. Oppression, discrimination, class struggle, people power, it didn't make sense. But something in his eyes had challenged me. Something passionate. And that made me want to be passionate too.**”

Albus felt a weight slowly forming against his chest. He knew exactly what she was referring to. That contagious passion that animated Gellert's mismatched eyes. He had known it himself, in exactly the same way that Vinda had known it. And he knew, that at that very moment, he was supposed to focus on the story. Trying to discern whether the loyalty of the Rosiers was real, and whether Voldemort's influence represented a danger. But he couldn't. Instead, a single question, a stupid question, devoured his mind. Had she slept with him?

"**Did you ask your parents to finance him?**”

“**No, I did not. We didn't talk in our family. That night I went out and I saw him. He was in the backyard with a house elf. They were talking. I joined them. And he opened my eyes. Not to the world, to his fight or anything. But about me. About who I was and what role I was willing to play. He showed me how I could redefine not only what had been chosen for me according to my own will, but also how to subdue the world to become what I could desire. I drank every one of those words. I made them my own. But it will be years before I can realize that I didn't understand them at all.**

“**He went back into the night, and my life changed fundamentally. I promised him, before he left, that as soon as I became the head of the family, I would finance each of his dreams, and my goal was to become an exceptional witch that nothing could subdue. I deviated from the traditional path of the Rosiers, not to join Hogwarts, but Beauxbatons, wanting to get closer to my French revolutionary heritage. It was disappointing, but I had fun. Gellert had given me the will to take power and I did not deprive myself of it. I was... dazzling. I was convinced that a bright future awaited me. That I was going to join Gellert and his power movement, that I would be able to finance it and appear as the hero of this young man who had saved me from the unbearable lethargy that was my life.**

“**But, fortunately, a great misfortune happened to me. My parents had a child. A male child. This is the story of many first-born girls from important families. Whether or not they are loved by mom and dad, in the end it is the son who will have the money. Again, such a common story. But it devastated me. For the first time I was losing power. This family and this environment that I had managed to reconquer was slipping away from me and relegating me to the background. I had nothing. Nothing for myself, and nothing to offer to this man I wanted to follow. I had wanted to subdue fate, and fate had laughed at me.**”

“**As a result, you couldn't finance Gellert's project.”**

Albus wasn't sure where this was supposed to lead. His question was about Voldemort, and if he suspected that knowing Vinda could only benefit him, he felt a strange and disturbing feeling as he heard about Gellert from someone else. His lover came out of nowhere, and from no one. At Godric's Hollow, as afterwards at Hogwarts, Albus was the only one who really knew him. To hear someone who seemed to have seen a different face of the Germanic boy speak gave him the squeaky feeling that he needed to protest and defend his privileged position.

"**No, I couldn’t indeed. But I found him again. Without really knowing why. I had nothing to offer him, and I thought that he wouldn't be interested for even one second in someone who had been so little... let's say... successful in their attempts. But I was mistaken. He didn't say anything. He behaved as if I had been there for a long time, as if we had never really parted since that night, almost ten years earlier. He took me as his right-hand woman. Presented me as his most faithful ally. And I began to learn. To learn what he really said to me that night. It was long and hard work. It took years. But little by little I understood the world as he understood it. I made his dream my dream. And I accompanied him every step of the way. I passed on his words. I healed his wounds. I believed his visions. Frankly, on the whole, and in all humility, I don't think it’s possible to be a better support than what I have been. I’m a role model of sort**.”

“**So why Voldemort? He represents everything that Gellert is fighting against.**”

“**Why? Well, because of you.**”

This time, Albus did not hold back his teeth grinding. Judging by her satisfied smile, Vinda had thought carefully about the effect of her sentence, and she waited a few long seconds before explaining what she meant by it.

"**You stopped Gellert. In 1945, you confronted him, in Nurmengard, and you defeated him. You put an end to the movement and to the work of our lives. Gellert found himself locked up in his own palace, and his followers were pursued across the globe.**”

“**You don't look like you're being pursued.**”

“**Once again, Gellert saved me. He had limited power from his cell, and yet... He said one word. Imperio. He claimed that he had used the unforgivable spell on me. It may seem crude and obvious today, but it wasn't at the time. It was the first time in the world that the Imperio curse was used as a defense in a trial, and it was my case that set the precedent for all Death Eaters after the fall of Voldemort. It was Gellert, who first wanted to save his followers in this way. Of course you protested strongly. You were there at my trial and you were by far the most virulent of my opponents. I always told myself that you must have been jealous of how important I was to Gellert. Of course, you were talking more about moral issues and the need for justice. That didn't convince me, though**.”

“**Were you acquitted?**”

“**Yes. And I've never hated Gellert so much. I wanted to die for my principles, but he stole that from me. It took me a long time to forgive him and to understand the last lesson he wanted to pass on. To live for your principles takes much more courage, and much more suffering.**”

It didn't sound much like Gellert. On the contrary, Albus thought that his lover would far prefer a heroic and flamboyant death, rather than a life of relevant small battles. Listening to Vinda's speech, Gellert had remained a noble and admirable person until the end of his fight, but history knew otherwise. Yet Albus had the impression that the man described by the woman in front of him was much wiser, and much calmer, than the lively and extreme boy he knew.

"**Have you rebuilt the movement?**”

“**No, we haven't. We gathered, all of us survivors. But more to mourn the past together than to build a future. We had lost our leader, with him, our inspiration. Even, for some, our will to do good. Many plunged into nihilism. What good could still come from this world that was now imprisoning the one who was supposed to save it. We remained lethargic for years. Then Voldemort emerged. And we joined him.**”

“**But why did you join him?**”

“**We didn't care about our past battles. We didn't care about our old ideals. Without Gellert, they made no sense. We wanted to save the world back then. But the world had hurt us too much.**”

“**And Voldemort was your revenge?**”

“**For some, yes. After all, he was your enemy. And we all wanted to see you dead, swept away like Gellert had been. For others, wiser and dumber, Voldemort also represented a way of opposing the world that Gellert had taught us to fight. It was the possibility for them to join a new revolution. For me, it was the foolish hope that once you were dead, and the Ministries had fallen, I could return to Nurmengard and free the master of the place.**”

“**It didn't work.**”

“**It hasn't worked yet. I still had hope, though. But then you reappeared, and my plans changed. Gellert has freed himself, and I am now in a complex position between him and Voldemort, although that doesn't frighten me at all. If, on the contrary, the delicate position of the Rosier family can help Gellert, then that is just one more thing on my long list of prides.**”

“**The Rosier family? Many of you think the same?**”

“**Oh, yes, I think so. That little brother who was born so unappreciatively? He sadly died during the war between you and Gellert. Peace to his young soul. I became the head of the family in the late '30s. The Rosier family began to gravitate around me and became one of Gellert's major supporters. After his imprisonment, I continued to ensure that his ideals were passed on to our new generations. Of course, there are some who are far from worthy of serving our fight and we keep them out of our business. But it is not for nothing that the true supporters of Gellert today consider the Rosier mansion as the headquarters of our movement. Since Voldemort's return, things are more... complex. And we are more discreet. But that doesn't mean that all our men and women don't visit the manor when Voldemort isn't there.** “

“**Doesn't he notice that?**”

“**No, he doesn't. We're good at what we do, and our movement is used to discretion. Besides, I don't think Voldemort can conceive the mere idea that one can love someone more than they fear him.**”

“**Are the two of you close?**”

Albus found it hard to believe that the dark lord who was considered to be as good as Grindelwald could not suspect something so obvious. But the haughty face of the old woman exuded only confidence and amusement.

"**No, not so much. He thinks I'm a crazy old woman from another time. But I have enough influence in the Rosier family that he doesn't think it's worth his effort to attack me. However, I am close to some of his major Death Eaters. Voldemort is an intelligent man who keeps his cards close to him and trusts no one. He is the only one worthy of his own thoughts. But I know some things nevertheless.**”

“**What are his plans?**”

Vinda had a slight mysterious smile. Apparently, she was particularly delighted to have information that her interlocutor did not know. She elegantly readjusted her robes spread around her legs and straightened up. In a few steps, she walked to the window, leaving behind a soft and delicate fragrance with sweet aldehyde accents. She affected for a moment the observation of the garden before tightening the parts of her dress around her and offering Albus a complaisant grin.

"**We'll talk about it tomorrow. By now you must be exhausted. It's probably time for you to get some sleep.**”

Albus sighed inwardly but did not let it show. He felt that Vinda would take great pleasure in testing his patience, in that passive-aggressive way that she seemed to master as much as her mother tongue. There was obviously a lot of resentment between them. Thus, the young man did not respond, but stood up too.

"**At least tell me what your plans are.**”

“**To serve our leader and help him return to that power he should never have left.**”

And with these words, she walked towards the exit with a slight nod.

This response was both disturbing and reassuring. Despite his personal feelings, Albus knew that Vinda was sincere. The old woman was far too proud to stoop to hypocrisy. He knew that she was truly loyal to Gellert and that she would never betray him. But there was nothing to suggest that she was not one of the factors that could lead Gellert into the shortcomings that had been his in his other life. After all, unlike Vinda, Albus certainly didn't want his lover to return to the place he had been in 1945. The young man couldn't help but remember the words his alter-ego had spoken after his return from Hogsmeade. It was now up to him to look after the man of his life and to avoid the traps. And he would take his mission to heart.

"**Oh, and I almost forgot.**"

Albus glanced at Vinda who had stopped at the entrance to turn around one last time.

"**The answer is yes. We used to fuck a lot. In every position. And in any kind of situations. Rest well, Albus Dumbledore.**"

And Vinda gently closed the door behind her, leaving Albus alone in the room.

There was silence, only occasionally disturbed by some outside noise, a bird chirping, or a gust of wind whistling between the branches that echoed through the large window of the room. They obviously did not cover the echo of the sentence that had been uttered, but Albus forced himself to forget it. The crumbling old woman was nothing compared to him. Nothing at all. If Gellert could feel even the slightest hint of Albus' jealousy of Vinda, he would laugh at him for the rest of their lives.

Slowly he approached the bed - his bed, for the moment at least - and sat down. The mattress was thick and comfortable, covered with silky soft sheets. It was calling him suavely and Albus, exhausted, wanted to lie down and close his eyes for several days. But his mind was too restless for that. He had the impression that he still had things to do before he could get the sleep he sorely needed. He quickly straightened up and went to the cabinet before opening the drawer that his hostess had pointed out to him. There he found a Two-Way Mirror which he grasped with joy. At least one thing that had been going in the right direction since his expelling from Hogwarts. He went back to sit on the bed, while taking a look at the artifact. The mirror reflected a gray and still image of stones and arches that looked like a ceiling. Albus hesitated to call out the name of his lover. If someone else was nearby, it would be difficult to explain. But Gellert would not have left such an object within reach of anyone but himself. So the young British man looked around to make sure that there was nothing that could betray his location and, once he was satisfied, he climbed up to the center of the bed, brought his legs back to him into a more comfortable position, and held the mirror in front of him.

"**Gellert?**”

His voice was hesitant and weak, uncertain as to whether he wanted to be heard. At first there was no reaction, then a slight muffled rustle emanating from the mirror, before being followed by a new silence.

“**Gellert?**" Albus began again.

At the same moment, the image returned by the mirror became blurred, as if the object had been caught and moved at full speed. And for good reason since, just a few seconds later, Gellert's face appeared in front of the ceiling.

"**Albus! Are you alright?**”

“**Yes, I'm fine. I'm at the address you gave me.**”

“**That's good, that's very good. Better there than at the house of the Order. You'll have more freedom where you are.**”

The two lovers stared at each other for a moment, without a word on the tip of their tongues. They had left each other less than twelve hours before, but they felt as if a world had separated them and that it would take several lifetimes to make up for lost time. Albus felt in Gellert's gaze a strange and demented intensity, almost wounded. He was observing him in detail, seeming to map every detail of his face with a scientific rigor that made Albus slightly uncomfortable. He indeed felt that he had to submit to this observation, without which Gellert would not care about anything else. In the end, what he saw must have reassured the young man because his face finally softened.

“**What happened?**" he asked after a while. “**After you were expelled from Hogwarts, what did you do?**”

“**I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't find you. I knew I had to leave quickly to buy time. I apparated between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. I wasn't sure where to go. First I went to London, to disappear for a while. Then I went to Godric's Hollow.**”

“**You shouldn't have done that.**”

Gellert's face hardened at the mention of the village, and he cast an uncompromising disapproving glance at Albus. This deeply disturbed him. Something was wrong with his lover, who seemed much more changeable and darker than usual.

“**It was dangerous and reckless,**" Gellert continued. “**You shouldn't have gone back where you were expected to be.**”

“**I needed to go back. And I can protect myself.**”

“**I don't care, Albus.**”

The one mentioned frowned, deeply surprised by the coldness of the Germanic boy, but he did not have time to defend himself that the latter continued.

"**I don't care about any of that, I don't want you to put yourself in danger. Especially if I'm not there to protect you.**”

Albus could have answered that he was a better wizard than Gellert, but he felt that this remark would have been unwelcome in the conversation. And he didn't think it was a good idea to confront his lover before he really knew what was wrong with him.

"**Did I make myself clear?**”

“**Yes, Gellert. I'm sorry if I scared you. But it’s over. And I'm here now.**”

“**You could have been attacked.**”

Albus did not answer. And he had the opportunity to see clearly each of Gellert's facial features stretching.

"**You were attacked.**”

“**It was nothing.**”

“**It wasn't nothing. What happened?**”

“**There's no need to worry...**”

“**Albus.**”

The young man sighed for a long time and finally leaned against the bed base before bringing the mirror closer to him and beginning his explanation in a soft voice in an attempt to calm his lover:

"**Six Death Eaters. To Godric's Hollow. I guess they had come to kill me, considering the spells they used.**”

“**Did you run away?**”

“**No, I fought.**”

Gellert looked sincerely surprised for a moment, and this shook his annoyed coldness, which reassured Albus a little.

"**You fought?**”

“**It was them or me. I... If there had been a chance to talk, I would have done it. But I couldn't.**”

“**You... killed them?**”

Albus felt his throat tightening. He had managed not to think about it until now. He had managed not to think about many things. But Gellert reminded him of them and now he had to confront them.

“**No,**" he said. “**Not directly. I put them out of action, but they should be okay. Except... I... I didn't want to hurt them. I just... I just defended myself. I hijacked my enemies' curse so that they would attack each other. One of them got a Crucio. I don't know how they will recover. The other one... They were reduced to ashes, Gellert. I just dodge a spell, it's true. But I knew that they would take it instead of me. And they died from it. Just like that, in a split second, right in front of me.**”

“**If that Death Eater hadn't taken it, you would have taken it yourself. You don't have to think about it again, Albus. I'm glad it happened that way.**”

Albus nodded without being touched nor convinced by these words. He knew that he would dream for a long time to come about this body reduced to dust before his eyes. That he would often wonder if he could have countered the spell and found another way to neutralize the assailant. That he would imagine in detail the life that this man or woman might have had, which had ended only a few hours ago.

"**They didn't hurt you, did they?**”

“**No, hardly at all.**”

“**Hardly at all? Albus...**”

“**A scratch, I swear, Gellert.**”

“**Show me.**”

“**It has been cleaned and cared for, I have no desire to ...**”

“**Show it to me. Now.**”

Albus was beginning to feel a hint of annoyance at the use of such a cold and uncompromising tone that wasn’t that usual from his lover. But he had no desire to oppose anyone, presently, let alone Gellert. So, while sighing deeply to mark his discontent and frustration, he loosened the belt of the robe he had been lent, and dropped it on the bed, then opened the first buttons on his top to make it slide slightly until it uncovered his shoulder. Gellert leaned over his own mirror and Albus could see him looking closely at the scar.

"**What was it?**”

“**I don't know, it all happened rather quickly. But I think it was a spell of Vanishment or something like that. It barely grazed me, though.**”

Gellert detailed the reddish mark for a few more moments before straightening up a little.

"**Good, it could have been a lot worse. Are you in pain?**”

“**Not really, no.**”

“**That's good. I'll still ask Vinda to get you some Dittany. When you wake up, you should be able to make the wound disappear.**”

“**Alright, thanks.**”

Albus quickly put his clothes back on and took refuge again in the warmth of the robe. However, there was still this weight in the depths of his belly, and he knew it was time to address the reality.

"**Gellert. There's something else**.”

“**What's that?**”

“**It's about Mrs. Bagshot. She...**"

Albus fell silent, the words suddenly choked in his throat. But he knew what the old woman meant to Gellert. His own feelings didn't matter, he owed his lover the truth.

"**She's dead, Gellert.**”

“**Oh.**”

Gellert took a deep breath, but resumed soon after.

"**Well... It's sad, indeed. But it was predictable. It's been almost a century.**”

“**No. She died two hours earlier. She was alive before that. I've seen her. At Godric's Hollow. She was still there. She was okay, relatively speaking. But the Death Eaters... I was too late. Within seconds. I didn't think I would have lured them to her house. She... That's why I didn't run away. I couldn't leave her behind. But when the duel ended, she... she was dead.**”

Gellert did not answer. But Albus could see the distance in his eyes, and he guessed that he was probably immersed in his memories, and in that image so important that Bathilda had been to him.

“**I...**" Albus began, not quite knowing what to say. “**I'm sorry.**"

“**I know how much she meant to you too.**”

“**Yes...**”

“**She... She seemed to be happy?**”

Albus tried to summon to him the fuzzy fragments that remained to him from their last meeting. Surprisingly, he remembered more accurately their discussions when he was eleven years old than the one that had taken place just a few hours ago.

"**I... I don't know. She was alone. But she always liked to be alone. She was... a little strange.**”

“**Strange how?**”

“**I think she was old. Even older than we knew her to be. I think her memory wasn't what it used to be. But she seemed okay, I guess. She remembered you.**”

“**Did she say anything about me?**”

“**Not specifically, no. Just I don't think her awareness of the world was what it used to be, or what it should be. But still, she remembered you. She didn't touch anything in your room. In fact...**"

Albus looked around for a moment, but his things were still in the bathroom, and he didn't feel the strength to get up and get them.

"**I found your notebook.**”

“**My notebook? Where did you find it?**”

“**In your bedroom. Nothing has changed. I think she was still hoping you might need it someday. I don't think she resented you for anything. Or maybe she just didn't remember when I last saw her. She died thinking you were going to be home soon.**”

Gellert did not answer, but lowered his head, eyes closed. Albus knew that the loss was not absolute, since Gellert already believed that the old historian was dead. Nevertheless, he received the news from Albus with sorrow and grief.

"**Gellert.**”

“**It's all right, Albus.**”

The young man had raised his head and offered a pale but sincere smile to his lover.

"**Don't worry, it's going to be okay. I promise.**”

Albus smiles back, relieved. There was still that strange emptiness deep inside him, where something he had just found had been taken from him, but he still had Gellert. All in all, everything would be fine. With this thought, he then huddled against the wide pillow of the bed and brought the mirror closer to him to take a better look at his lover.

“**Where are you?**" he asked in a sleepy voice.

He felt that the night before was beginning to catch up with him to claim its deserved rest.

"**In the infirmary.**”

“**What's wrong?**”

“**Nothing. I just didn't feel like going to class. I had to stay available for the time when you could contact me, so I pretended to have a migraine so that I could stay alone and wait for you.**”

“**How are things at Hogwarts?**”

“**I haven't been able to talk to anyone yet.**”

Gellert, in turn, lay down on the infirmary bed on which he was sitting, and Albus guessed that he must have put the mirror in balance next to him. They were almost lying side by side now, and Gellert murmured, as if not to disturb his friend's coming sleep.

"**The old headmaster keeps his seat, but I think it's rather honorary. It has been announced that he is placed on probation, during which time all real decisions will be made by the High Inquisitor. I'm not even sure he has the right to choose the color of the curtains in his office at this point.**”

“**The end of the year is going to be fun...** "

Gellert responded only with a slight mumble and Albus slowly closed his eyes after pulling the blanket over him. He would have liked to keep them open; he would have liked to get drunk on his lover's face, but the fatigue was too stronge.

"**I don't like you being away from me.**”

It was Gellert's voice that still managed to reach him even in the nascent throes of unconsciousness.

“**You miss me already?**" Albus mumbled with difficulty against his pillow.

“**It's not that. It's just...**"

There was a pensive silence, during which Albus left the world of awakening so much that he almost did not hear the last answer of his lover.

"**It's just that you shouldn't be anywhere else but by my side. The world isn’t the way it's supposed to be when you are not with me.**”

* * *

* * *

Nothing could have brightened the gray sky that covered Hogwarts in Harry's eyes. The evening before had been as catastrophic as it could have been. He had spent the night, lying in the dark, thinking back over the events in every possible way, wondering what he could have done to make it different. Or rather what he should have done. The other members of the DA were painfully mourning their beautiful project, but that wasn't Harry's concern. Of course, he wasn't happy about the end of the Defense classes, but other more important concerns were tearing him apart inside and leaving him little opportunity to care about their group.

It was all his fault. He knew it. And he had rushed the others with him. Gellert's words were turning in his mind, and he knew they were true. He knew the idea was dangerous, and he had not only accepted it, but he had involved others after him. He had also accepted the name of their group. What's more, he found the idea amusing at the time. He laughed at the joke as much as the others, and did not listen to the main person involved. And in Dumbledore's office, he had failed to make himself heard, to make them believe the truth. Of course he had tried, but he couldn't shake the idea that he could have done more. To speak more vehemently. Giving evidence that he was the only culprit. But his efforts had not been enough. Gellert had seen it, and his words had hit home.

"**Harry, you should eat something, though.**”

Hermione had just spoken in a worried voice, but it didn't move Harry much. The toast on his plate didn't mean anything to him, and his stomach was too upset to swallow anything. He pricked the bread with the tip of his fork for a moment, but did nothing more than that.

"**Still no news of Albus?**”

“**No, still nothing. But I don't think Dumbledore would have let him put himself in danger. He's probably with Snuffle right now. Not having to go to potion class. We shouldn't feel sorry for him, really!**”

Ron had just exclaimed in a joyful tone, his mouth full sending spittles all over the place. It was obvious that he was trying to cheer Harry up, but nothing seemed to help. Harry couldn't help wondering where Albus might be if he wasn't in Grimmauld Place. Harry slowly realized that he knew nothing about the man who had been their classmate for months. He had no idea where he could go to find refuge. He didn't know where he came from, didn't know if he still had family or friends, didn't even know the places he had visited, or that he would like to see one day. Albus was a complete stranger to him, and that made Harry's guilt even worse. Had he been more interested in the boy, would things have been different?

“**And what about Gellert?**" Hermione asked to keep the conversation going. “**Did he leave too, or did Professor McGonagall bring him back?**”

“**He came back later that evening,**" Ron answered. “**Dumbledore walked him back to the dormitory. But he didn't talk to us. He went to his bed and drew the curtains. He was already awake this morning, I'm not sure if he slept all night.**”

“**He didn't come for breakfast?**”

“**No, he stayed at the dormitory. We'll probably see him in class**.”

They didn’t see him in class. Ron and Harry went to Divination, and they watched the stars with Firenze, without seeing a glimpse of their classmate. Seamus told them that Gellert had apparently gone to the infirmary because of painful migraines.

"**He seemed to be all right, though.** "Ron whispered as Firenze were talking with Parvati and Lavander.

"**Maybe he lied. He didn't want to go to class. I can understand that. I hear Dumbledore is only here as a decoration. Ombrage is the real headmistress now. Things are going to change around here. Maybe Gellert had the right idea by skipping...**"

Harry elbowed Seamus' ribs to silence him as Firenze approached them.

"S**o, is your reading of the stars evolving to your liking?**”

“**Uh... yes, sir. It's, uh, it's very, very clear today.**”

“**Good, Mr. Weasley. I hope to see that clarity in your observation report.**”

It could have been threatening, but Firenze was showing his usual wise and confident face and Ron just nodded his head. The centaur was about to pass them to see Trevor Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst arguing over the interpretation of a series of stars, but he stopped halfway to turn around to the three Gryffindors.

"**Your friend is not here?**”

“**Gellert?**” asked Harry. “**No, he's in the infirmary. He had a very bad headache this morning.**”

Harry hoped that Firenze had not heard what Seamus had said, while he used the excuse of the headache with great certainty and assertiveness. But the centaur did not react. He nodded slowly, as if he had a deep understanding of the situation, and his face softened slightly.

"**I see. Will you convey my sincerest wishes for his recovery?**”

“**Yes, professor.**”

“**Good. Tell him to take care of himself.**”

And with these words, he moved in a slow and heavy noise of hooves towards the two noisy Ravenclaw. The class ended quickly after that, and Harry, Ron and Seamus, accompanied by Neville and their Hufflepuff classmates, went to the greenhouses for their Herbology class. Seamus joined Dean while Ron and Harry met up with Hermione after her arithmancy class. She soon realized that Gellert would not be there, so the trio sat down with Ernie around a cluttered, earthy work surface.

The class went off without a hitch. Harry helped Ron extract the sap from the plant, without paying much attention to it. He was still concerned about Albus' situation and would have liked to talk to Gellert. To tell the truth, he was afraid to confront the Germanic boy, fearing that he would be confronted even more with his own guilt, but at the same time he felt he had to talk to him. Perhaps ask him if he had any news of their classmate who had been expelled. Or even to apologize, although he didn't really see what an apology could do, or even why he should address it to Grindelwald.

His anxious wish came true sooner than he thought. As they were returning from the greenhouses with Ernie, he received the first good news of the day.

“**The Fat Friar told me,**" Ernie whispered with a proud and knowing conspiratorial pride, "**that Umbridge tried to get into Dumbledore's office.**”

“**But Dumbledore is still there!**" Hermione was outraged.

“**Yes, he is. But Umbridge said that since it is her duty to check the headmaster's decisions, she must be allowed access to the office. The Minister agreed with her. She wanted to search through Dumbledore's documents, but she couldn't. The door closed in front of her. She ordered Dumbledore to open it for her, but he said he had no power over the enchantments installed by the Founders. The office only opens to those who have the legitimate right to enter. Umbridge was mad with rage. But there was nothing she could do, and neither could Dumbledore. At least, that's what she thought. But the Fat Friar told me that old Dumbledore was already having fun playing around with the spells of the Founders when he himself was still a student. Umbrdige doesn't know that, of course. No one told her. The Fat Friar said it was much more satisfying to watch her throw a tantrum.**”

“**Good!**" Harry mumbled angrily.

Imagining every little annoyance that could rise up against Ombrage was at this moment the only buoy that prevented him from falling into the most absolute and deadly despair.

“**It must have been great to see!**" Hermione exclaimed with the same resentment as Harry. “**Now that she can order Dumbledore around, she probably already imagines she can snoop around and persecute the teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old -**"

"**Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?**"

Harry turned around and saw Drago, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, move away from the large shaded gates of the castle to approach them as they themselves walked towards the entrance. All three had a confident and victorious look on their faces. They were obviously gloating. And Harry sensed that he would not like what would happen next.

“**Afraid I’m going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,**” Drago mumbled in a low and amused voice.

“**It’s only teachers that can dock points from Houses, Malfoy,**” answered Ernie defensively.

“**Yeah, we’re prefects too, remember?**”

“**I know prefects can’t dock points, Weasel King, but members of the Inquisitorial Squad —**”

“**The what?**” asked Hermione sharply.

“**The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger.**”

Malfoy had a huge smile on his pale face, as he was pointing toward a tiny pin on his chest, of the shape of a silver I.

“**A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points... So, Granger, I’ll have five from you for being rude about our High Inquisitor... Macmillan, five for contradicting me... Five because I don’t like you, Potter... Weasley, your shirt’s untucked, so I’ll have another five for that… Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that…**”

Ron, furious at this last sentence, was about to take his wand out of his pocket to attack Malfoy, but before he had time to do anything, a cold voice cut him off.

"**The Inquisitorial Squad, you say?**”

Draco turned to see who had just spoken behind his back, and Harry could see that it was Gellert standing in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back, his eyes glacial and dark. Harry expected the Slytherins to finally rejoice in their attack on Grindelwald. After all, no one had forgotten his overwhelming victory in the Quidditch match, but to his surprise, Draco said nothing. He simply closed his mouth, and his face appeared to have a strange expression, somewhere between mistrust and anxiety. Gellert must have been less surprised than Harry by this reaction because he didn't blink. Slowly, with his controlled and precise gait, he approached Draco until he stood just a few inches away from him. He was slightly smaller, but the difference in size was completely concealed by the sense of power and mastering that escaped from the young Germanic man's body. With deliberate slowness, Gellert raised his hand until he touched the silver pin.

"**It's a nice medal.**”

Draco didn't answer, content with only supporting Gellert's gaze. The latter, always without the least expression, let his hand fall down and stared at the Slytherin as if he was waiting for an answer to a question that remained unformulated. Finally, Grindelwald broke the strange silence once again.

"**You must be very proud of this.**”

“**It offers real advantages. Which I can use in any way I see fit. It would be foolish to ignore it under the pretext that ...**”

“**That's a nice excuse you're telling yourself here.**”

Gellert spoke in a calm, almost caressing voice, but Harry couldn't help but feel a shiver of danger running down his neck. He sensed that there were underlying issues that wasn’t clear for him, but that didn't change the fact that there was something terrifying about Grindelwald, in his cold and gentle way of addressing Draco.

"**If you want points, I'll...**”

“**I don't care about the points. I am much more interested in the choices that the people I care about will make in the days and months ahead. All kinds of choices. The good or the bad. Me or my enemies. The small, childish, ridiculous grudges, or the big wars that are looming. I'm all the more eager to discover them because these choices will be irreversible...** "

Draco didn't respond. He just gritted his teeth slightly, held Gellert's gaze for a few more seconds, before waving to his two minions to follow him as he disappeared into the castle.

“**Do you know Malfoy?**" Ron wondered, gawking.

“**We've been living in the same castle for seven months.**" Gellert replied without a glance at them, his head still turned towards the place where Draco had disappeared.

“**No, but I mean personally? Do you talk to him?**”

“**Hardly.**”

“**He doesn't seem to hate you as much as the other Gryffindors. It even looked like he was listening to you.**”

“**Maybe I've made some effort to socialize when you haven't?**”

“**Socialization efforts?**" Ron choked. “**As if it was our fault! Malfoy has hated us from day one! There was nothing we could have done!**”

“**Really?**”

Gellert had just uttered this word in a tone that made it clear that he was not asking the question and that he did not care about a possible answer. In fact, it didn’t wait around to hear what Ron might have had to say, he just turned around and walked towards the main corridor. Harry didn't waste a moment and ran after him, followed by his two friends.

"**Gellert, wait!**”

He did not slow down but made a slight head movement to show that he had heard them. When Harry reached his level, he walked beside him to what must have been the direction of the Great Hall.

"**We wanted to know, have you heard from Albus?**”

“**I have.**”

Harry immediately felt he could breathe a little more freely. He probably would have seen it in Gellert's attitude if something serious had happened to their comrade. Hermione also looked relieved as she entered the Great Hall with the rest of their small group.

"**So? Where is he?**”

“**In a place you would gain nothing from knowing.**”

“**Okay, but is he safe?**" Hermione continued, understanding that Grindelwald would not answer the first question, even if she insisted.

“**Yes. He is under my protection.**”

“**Good,**" Harry whispered. “**I... You can tell him that I'm relieved that nothing serious has happened to him.**”

“**Except the Death Eaters attack, of course.**" Gellert whispered with his eyes fixed on Harry.

He sat at the Gryffindors' table, near the entrance, opposite the teachers - and Umbridge who sat in the armchair of Dumbledore as he was not visible - and Harry, Ron and Hermione hurried to take their places around him.

“**He was attacked?**" Hermione murmured in horror, after checking that no one around them could hear them.

“**Yes, he was. Six Death Eaters found him before he reached safety.**”

“**And is he all right?**”

“**He was injured.**”

Harry felt his stomach turn as what he feared was happening around him. His breathing painfully shortened, but he forced himself to stay in control. Gellert stared at him, adding to his discomfort. For a moment it seemed as if the young man was feeding off his obvious distress, but after a moment Gellert closed his eyes and sighed deeply, visibly very tired. He then resumed in a voice that was less cold and distant, though still dark and deep.

"**He'll be fine. It was nothing serious. It's just a scar now, and it will surely be gone by tonight.**”

Ron, Hermione and Harry nodded their heads, keeping their relief more discreet than a few seconds ago. Ron began to fill his plate with roast chicken drumsticks and offered some to the others, who refused them, still preoccupied. Even Gellert, whom Harry knew so confident and jubilant, had an obvious worried look on his face. Hermione must have noticed it too, as she continued the conversation.

"**Do we know how Voldemort was able to find Albus? He probably has spies at the Ministry who told him about his expelling, but that doesn’t he was supposed to be able to know where to find him.**”

“**Albus wanted to return to his childhood village,**” Gellert told them. “**Voldemort must have expected such sentimentality. But, in the end, it suits us.**”

“**It suits us?**" Harry wondered, as he couldn't see how a Death Eater attack could be positive. “**Why?**”

Gellert grabbed his abandoned fork between his long, nimble fingers and began to twirl it lazily, in the steady rhythm of his thoughts.

"**There was a death. Well, several. But I think the Death Eaters have been cleaned up. But they must have left the dead woman behind.**”

“**How does that help us?**”

“**It took place at Godric's Hollow. It's an important symbolic village. Where your parents were killed, Harry. And where Voldemort died. That there's an attack, especially on a woman known to be a supporter of Dumbledore, in a village so connected to Voldemort... that's going to raise questions. A few hesitant souls will agree with our version of events. In this war of conviction between the Minister and you, Harry, such an act serves us well.**”

The idea of rejoicing at the prospect of death did not enchant Harry, but a semblance of joy began to flutter in the depths of his despair. To imagine the Minister and Umbridge worrying about how to justify such an event could only be positive for him. However, Gellert did not seem to share this positivity.

"**You don't look satisfied...**”

“**I do**," answered Gellert with a face that betrayed his words. "**I'm extremely satisfied with that.**”

The other three Gryffindors all felt distinctly that there must have been something at stake in this case that they did not understand because their classmate seemed to be tortured by questions they could not guess.

"**Firenze asked us where you were this morning.** "Ron intervened to change the topic. "**We said you had a headache, and he wished you a good recovery!**”

“**Firenze?**”

“**The Divination teacher.**”

“**Ah. Great.**”

“**Also, we have some homework in Herbology. I'll give you my notes if you want.**”

Gellert did not answer, but he was now absorbed by a thought that made his gaze distant and reflexive. After a while, however, he spoke again, interrupting Ron in the middle of a tearful complaint about too much homework.

"**Where were you at at the DA?**”

“**What?**”

“**How far along were you?**”

“**Uh...**" Harry thought for a moment, wondering why Gellert would be interested. “**I was teaching them the Patronus charm when...**”

“**No, not the others. Albus and you three. Your private training.**”

“**Uh, nowhere...**”

“**Well, we've made a lot of progress!**” exclaimed Hermione, correcting Ron.

"**Yes, of course, but I mean, we weren't at a particular spell. We were fighting in duels, that's all. He didn't have the time to teach us any concrete spells...**”

Gellert stroked his lip distractedly, visibly immersed in his thoughts, before his mismatched eyes landed on Harry. He seemed to judge him for a moment, before speaking again.

"**I'll take it from here.**”

“**What?**" Harry asked, without understanding.

“**Albus is gone, and you still have to defeat Voldemort. I'm going to take over this impromptu training. Believe me, it's going to be on a completely different rhythm.**”

The Germanic boy didn't seem to ask their opinion, simply stating a fact, but the trio nodded their heads. Harry felt a strange rage rising inside him. He had a crazy desire to fight, to struggle, and to win. He wanted to regain some form of control, and he felt he needed to put that anger and frustration into a project. And if it was a duel, everything was for the best. Harry had a lot to learn from Gellert, he knew that. He had seen the young man's genius in class. But more than improving, Harry wanted to strike back.

“**Where are we going to do this?**" asked Hermione, anxious, despite her obvious motivation.

“**I'll figure it out. I'll tell you then.**”

“**Hey, did you see that?**”

Harry jumped out of his skin in spite of himself and almost twisted his neck to see Fred and George approaching them behind his back. One of the twins was pointing at the large hourglasses that could be seen from their seat. The trio immediately understood what the two newcomers wanted to highlight. Until now, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had fought hard for first place in the ranking, but now their hourglasses were almost empty and the few gemstones that still symbolized the points continued to fly away and disappear at regular intervals. In fact, only the Slytherin's hourglass had not changed.

“**Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points,**” explained Harry furiously, as the memory of it all was coming back to him. “**It’s this Inquisitorial thing. They can do as they want, now. And, what a surprise, they are all Slytherins.**”

“**Yeah, Montague tried to do the same during break**.”

“**What do you mean, ‘tried’?**” asked Ron with curiosity.

“**He never managed to get all the words out,**” answered Fred, “**due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.**”

“**But you’ll get into terrible trouble!**”

Hermione seemed horrified at the thought, and even Harry, who was rejoicing at Montague's fate, couldn't help but worry about the twins.

“**Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,**” said Fred coolly.

“**Anyway… we’ve decided we don’t care about getting into trouble anymore.**”

“**Have you ever?**”

It was Hermione who had just asked the question, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“** ’Course we have,**” said George, offended. “**Never been expelled, have we?**”

“**We’ve always known where to draw the line.**”

“**We might have put a toe across it occasionally.**”

“**But we’ve always stopped short of causing real mayhem.**”

“**But now?**” said Ron tentatively.

“**Well, now —**” began George.

“**— what with Umbridge in charge —**” continued Fred.

“**— we reckon a bit of mayhem —**”

“**— is exactly what our dear new Head’s Head deserves.**”

“**You mustn’t!**” whispered Hermione, anxiously. “**You really mustn’t! She’d love a reason to expel you!**”

“**You don’t get it, Hermione, do you?**” said Fred, with a charming smile on his lips. “**We don’t care about staying anymore. We’d walk out right now if we weren’t determined to do our bit for the DA first. So anyway, phase one is about to begin. Just sit right here and enjoy the show.**”

The twins gave them one last wink and walked away happily.

"**What do they have in mind?**”

“**An interesting idea,**" answered Gellert. “**An idea that I'll surely continue once they will be gone.**”

None of the other three Gryffindors had the opportunity to question Grindelwald about what he had just said, as the shadow of a newcomer interrupted their conversations once again.

"**Gellert?**”

This time it was an old and wise voice that was heard, and Harry was particularly surprised to see the tall, draped figure of the headmaster. He hadn't had the opportunity to see Dumbledore so close and open near him since the end of last year. And even now, although the old man's face was open and gentle, all his attention was focused solely on Gellert.

"**The two of us have to talk. About Bathilda.**”

Gellert's face was darkening but he didn't seem surprised to see the headmaster address him directly. He simply lowered his gaze to his plate.

"**Albus told me.**”

“**Yes, I can imagine,**" Dumbledore said in a kind voice. “**But some things have to be settled. She has named you as her sole heir.**”

“**I don't want anything.**”

“**And we have to talk about her funeral.**”

Gellert sighed angrily as he dropped his fork, which was of no use to him. Harry didn't know who this Bathilda was, but the young man obviously didn't want to talk about it.

"**What's going on here?**”

Even if Harry hadn't recognized the unbearable voice, the little cough that preceded it would have informed him unwillingly. He saw in Ron and Hermione's angry and bitter expression that they too had recognized the author of the intervention before they had even had to turn around.

"**I have to settle an unfortunate matter with a student.** "Dumbledore, who was the only one who had no reaction to Umbridge’s arrival, replied cordially.

“**And this matter interests me greatly.**” Umbridge murmured with her toad-like smile. “**What is it about?**”

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, as if hesitating, but his face remained serene and polite until he spoke again.

"**Gellert Grindelwald suffered a tragic loss this morning, and there are material details that need to be discussed.**”

“**Are you talking about Bathilda Bagshot?**”

“**Yes, herself,**" said the old headmaster. “**She was Mr. Grindelwald's great-aunt, and choose him as her sole heir, according to her last wishes. Moreover, he will have to be accompanied to the funeral this evening.**”

“**Tonight?**”

Gellert had straightened up, surprised by what he had just heard. He had just shown the most abrupt reaction since Harry had seen him this morning.

“**So early?**" he continued. **“Don't they need the body for the investigation?**”

“**What investigation?**" asked Umbridge with a patient and conciliatory smile. “**It was a tragic domestic accident, my dear child. There is no mystery in this case that needs to be solved**.”

“**A domestic accident? You are making less and less effort. It's becoming laughable.**”

“**What are you implying?**" asked Umbridge sharply.

“**Professor Umbridge,**” cut off Dumbledore “I don't think this kind of private matter is best settled in public. If I can offer my office. Oh no, sorry, we should rather go to a place where you can actually follow us, Professor Umbridge.”

And on these words, which were too cordial to be reproachable, Dumbledore took a step back and reached out his arm, in a gesture inviting Gellert to pass in front. Gellert seemed to hesitate, and Harry thought for a moment that he was going to refuse, but finally the young man stood up and left the Great Hall, followed by Dumbledore and Umbridge. And that's when the first fireworks exploded.

* * *

* * *

"**Are you... are you all right?**"

Gellert didn't avert his eyes from the fire purring in the fireplace in front of him. The common room was practically packed, despite the relatively late hour. But the other occupants, noisy and cheerful, hadn't gone near the German boy during the entire evening. If this distance was due to his dark eyes or the funeral clothes he was still wearing, the young man did not know. And he didn't care. Just as he didn't care about the boy who had come to interrupt his memories.

“**What do you want, Longbottom?**" he finally muttered without a glance.

“**I wanted to ask you if you were all right.**”

Gellert did not answer. He hated commonplace questions and certainly did not reward them with an answer. But Neville misunderstood this silence, for he seemed to see it as an invitation, as he approached to sit next to his classmate on the big, worn red carpet in front of the fireplace. Behind them, a few songs could still be heard to the glory of the Weasley brothers who had offered them a magnificent pyrotechnics show all afternoon. Detonations continued to thunder throughout the castle, but none of them really reached Gellert's ears. The only thing that seemed real to him was the fire in front of his eyes, which did not warm anything or anyone.

"**I... I heard that your aunt had died today.**”

“**Great-aunt**.”

“**Bathilda Bagshot, right? The historian?**”

“**Yes.**”

“**Were you close?**”

A particularly loud crackling sound, followed by bursts of a rebellious flame, caught Gellert's gaze, reflecting on his pale face. But his attention was elsewhere. On Bathilda. Or on Albus. He didn't know. But on someone who wasn't there.

"**Close?**”

He took out of his pocket the funerary program he had received a few hours ago. He could see, on the cover of the sober document, a photo of his great-aunt, at an age he had never known her. She must have had a great success with boys at this age. She had deep and devastating eyes, shining with intelligence and amusement. He handed the leaflet to Neville who took it with anxious humility.

"**We were close, yes.**”

Neville detailed the picture for a moment, and smiled at the smile of the woman who was once young.

"**She had the same face as you, it's funny...** "

Neville wanted to give the program back to him but Gellert did not take it, he was again absorbed by the fire. The anxious young Gryffindor took the document and carefully placed it flat on his lap, so as not to damage it.

"**Did you grow up with her?**”

“**No... With my parents in Germany. But my great-aunt used to visit me from time to time. That drove my mother crazy. She didn't want any contact with wizards... But nobody stopped Bathilda from doing what she wanted. And for some reason she adored me. I owe her... everything, I think. I would never have accepted my magic, if she hadn't been there to show me how to flourish within it. And when my parents kicked me out of their house, she took me in. And more than that... she seemed happy to welcome me.**”

Neville didn't think Gellert had ever addressed such a long sentence to him. He wasn't convinced that the anecdote was really addressed to him rather than to the fire, but it didn't make much difference. He felt they were sharing a precious moment and he continued with caution and empathy.

"**She seemed to be nice and to have a lot of affection for you.**”

“**Yes, she was. If I had grown up with her, I would have become a very different person.**”

“**But she was proud of the man you are now, wasn't she?**”

Gellert squinted his eyes as he looked at Neville for the first time.

"**You're going a little too far here, Longbottom.**”

“**Dumbledore said that she had appointed you as her sole heir.**”

“**A house I don't care about, and books I've already read.**”

“**Perhaps so. But it shows the affection she had for you. She wouldn't have given you everything she had if she didn't trust the person you are.**”

The young German boy stared at Neville for a moment. He had not expected such a remark, and seemed to be seeing his fellow Gryffindor for the first time. He hadn't suspected for a moment that one day this anxious and invisible boy would be able to tell him something of value to him. Gellert finally shrugged his shoulders, a little less distant, a little lighter.

"**Albus said she had completely lost her mind in her last days of old age.**”

“**Yes, that's another explanation! It's up to you to choose the one you prefer...**"

The two young men turned again towards the fire, a pale amusement on their faces. They remained silent for a moment, observing the luminous dance of the flames. Behind them, the festive outbursts continued, while the Weasley twins, in the midst of this bubbling enthusiasm, took command of their admiring classmates. Neville was called by Seamus to join in the observation of fireworks over the forbidden forest, but the boy ignored him.

“**You can join them,**" Gellert whispered without looking. “**I don't need you to stay here.**”

“**It must be... complicated without Albus.**”

“**Do you want to replace him?**”

“**N-no! Of course not!**" exclaimed Neville, greatly disturbed by Gellert's offer, which seemed serious despite the absurdity of the idea.

“**Don't panic, Longbottom. It was a joke.**”

Neville blushed a little at his reaction and quickly returned to more serious matters.

"**I'm really sorry that you were separated. I can imagine that after all you've been through together... He is the only one who knows what you've been through, and shares it with you, and I can imagine how hard it must be to lose him now. And... I guess what I mean is... is that if you need someone to...**”

“**I lied to him.**”

The sentence had left Gellert's lips without him even realizing it. His heart was beating hard against his chest, and he could hardly hear Neville questioning him next to him. All he could hear was his blood in his skull and his thoughts in his brain. So he continued, his eyes darkened and his throat tightened.

"**The day he was expelled. He told me he couldn't find me. It was because I wasn't there.**”

“**Where were you?**” Neville asked in a low, non-judgmental voice.

“**At Nurmengard.**”

Longbottom answered nothing. If he was surprised, he cleverly hid it. It was obvious that he was waiting for the rest of the story, and with it some explanations, but he did nothing that would have put the slightest pressure on Gellert. Instead, he kept silent and moved closer to the Germanic boy, until the latter resumed speaking:

"**I had gone to see my future self. I had some questions to ask him.**”

“**What kind of questions?**”

Gellert didn't answer right away. His gaze had left the fire and landed on his hands, which were playing nervously around his wand.

"**Why did I become like that? How I had become like that.**”

“**And... did you get the answers you wanted?**”

“**I got the answers to the questions I wanted to see answered. To saying that those were the answers I wanted...**"

The young man seemed for a moment lost in his memory. Finally, he brought his legs back against him, Indian-style, and straightened up slightly, losing his gaze among the patterns on the ceiling. It was obvious that the words were difficult for him to pronounce. But he could no longer stop them now that he had started.

"**I didn't tell Albus that I was going there. I'm not sure why. I was... anxious, and I didn't want him to see me like that. And I didn’t tell him when I had the opportunity, this morning, because… Because there were more important things to be told.**”

“**Why was that? Why didn't you want him to see you like this?**”

“**He wouldn't have been able to understand.**”

“**But I thought you were...**”

“**Together? Yes. And it doesn't change anything. I... There are certain things I can't tell Albus. Certain things that are rotten inside of me, that he wouldn't be able to understand. Well... I mean surely, he would understand them. I don't know if you've noticed, but he's relatively intelligent... He would be able to understand, but I don't want him to understand them.**"

"**Why not?**"

"**Because... as long as he doesn't see anything, I feel like I can protect him from it. And that goes for everything. If I could hide all the misery of the world from him, I would. It's not always possible. But I thought that maybe I could spare him from it. He is… He is just too important, and too hurtable and…**”

Once again, Gellert busied his unusually restless fingers around his wand, while his eyes laid on the fire, yet saw nothing of the orange light of the flames.

"**I think he could handle what you wanted to hide from him.**” Neville tried when it was obvious that Gellert wouldn’t end that sentence.

“**The worst thing about me...**”

“**I think he might be able to love the worst in you. I think he might be able to love everything. I... I don't know him, of course. Nor do I know you. But... he seemed to care a lot about you when we talked that day at the hospital. He seemed... He seemed to doubt everything, except the evidence of your place in his life.**"

Gellert turned his head sharply towards Neville at these words and, for a split second, he let the anxiety that was devouring him be reflected in his heterochromatic pupils.

"**Really?**”

“**Yes. Really.**”

There were a few seconds of silence before Gellert finally let a slight bitter laugh escape from his lips.

"**Albus has always been as stupid as he is clever...**"

Neville must have sensed that, despite the obvious tone of the joke that disguised this intervention, there was sincerity behind it. And he asked with a serious face that contrasted with Gellert's sarcastic grin.

"**Why does that make him an idiot? Do you think you don't deserve him?**”

“**Don't take me for a tortured melodramatist who thinks he doesn't deserve anything. I'm not questioning my value. I know I deserve the world. Just... Albus doesn't see, or refuses to see the obvious.**”

“**Which is?**”

“**I'm not a good person. At least not with him.**”

“**But why do you think that?**”

“**Because... his conception of love is so pure, so simple... I don't think he'll be able to stand mine.**”

Neville did not answer. Surely he didn't understand. And Gellert didn't blame him. To tell the truth, he was barely speaking to him. So it was to the fire that was finally beginning to heat his skin that Gellert addressed his fleeting thought:

"**Sometimes I wonder if the reason I fear so much the prospect of this world hurting him is because I can't stand the thought of someone hurting him, or if it's because I can't stand the thought of someone else than me hurting him. Albus is meant for me, after all. We both know that. For me alone. And the world has no place here.**”

Silence settled in and slowly Gellert turned his eyes to Neville who stared at him without saying anything. Without understanding. Or fearing to understand, maybe, Gellert thought.

"**So, Longbottom... Tell me how not twisted this thought is. And tell me how much Albus will obviously be able to love it in me.**"


End file.
